


Speak/Hush

by DianaCloudburst (Cloudburst_Ink)



Series: The Immortal Weapons [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Alec Lightwood, Bottom Magnus Bane, Bottom!Magnus, Consensual Sex, Drama, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Head of the Institute Alec Lightwood, High Warlock of Brooklyn Magnus Bane, Idiots in Love, M/M, Malec, On Hiatus, Plot With Porn, Rimming, Romantic Tension, Sexual Tension, Shadowhunter Alec Lightwood, Slight Canon Divergence, Smut, Switching, Top Alec Lightwood, Top Magnus Bane, Top!Magnus, Warlock Magnus Bane, bottom!alec, top!alec
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22398472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudburst_Ink/pseuds/DianaCloudburst
Summary: Alec and Magnus have overcome the demons of their pasts (both figurative and literal), and though Valentine is still at large, the Mortal Mirror remains hidden far from his grasp. And Alec, after years convinced he could never truly be himself, is finally out of the closet—the first openly gay Head of an Institute, ever.But not everyone takes their success so gracefully. Imogen Herondale is doing everything in her power to ruin Alec’s reputation, to make an example out of anyone who tries to take a more liberal approach to the Clave’s unforgiving policies.When Downworlder bodies begin to surface across New York, the Clave pays little heed to the warnings of a warlock and a gay Shadowhunter. The Council has no interest in dead Downworlders—at least not until this new threat begins to hunt nephilim as well.With a familiar pattern of murders looming over the city, Alec and Magnus have one more chance to prove themselves, or risk being separated for good.~*~Find bonus content and get fully caught up atCloudburst.Ink!Beta'd by LaCroixWitch.
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: The Immortal Weapons [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543543
Comments: 150
Kudos: 188





	1. Snowfall

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back!!!  
> So excited to be continuing this story. I have so many plans.~  
> If you ever want to chat about Malec or this fic, you can find my Tumblr & Twitter accounts on my profile!
> 
> ~*~
> 
> Want to read this chapter with extra features like pretty formatting and opening/closing songs? [Check it out at Cloudburst.Ink](https://cloudburst.ink/speak-hush-1/)! 

Magnus scuffed over the frozen York Street sidewalk, the toes of his boots dragging wet trails in the grey winter slush that pooled below them. He had another hour before he was expected at the Institute, but he had left his apartment excessively early, more eager than he realistically should be to see his boyfriend again.

Alec had been sleeping over almost every night lately, but a late night mission resulted in him staying at the Institute the night before. Despite how absurd, obsessive, and clingy it seemed, Magnus missed his Shadowhunter. He had grown accustomed to waking up with the comforting weight of another body pressed against his. He needed Alec’s presence to sleep at all now—even when Alec tossed and turned and stole the sheets. Even when he snored. Magnus’s bedroom was too quiet and lonely at night without him.

Alone with his thoughts on the frozen, snowbound street, Magnus couldn't help but wonder if Alec had missed him as well.

What began as a light mid-December flurry intensified into the second noteworthy winter storm of the year. The fluffy piles of white snowflakes coalescing against buildings and across sparse patches of grass muted the entire world in both color and sound, blanketing the city in the strange, heavy kind of silence that happened only during snowfall.

The tranquility was interrupted by Magnus’s phone buzzing in his pocket, muffled by layers of insulated fabric. He fished it out and was delighted to see Catarina’s name flashing across the screen.

“Catarina!” he exclaimed, breaking the aura of silence that surrounded him. The snowflakes swallowed his voice, carrying whispers of it down the corridor of towering New York buildings. “Finally!”

“Don’t give me that attitude,” Catarina griped. “It’s entirely your fault that I no longer take you seriously when you claim a call is urgent. Now what do you want?”

“I’m so glad you asked.” As he began his carefully prepared appeal for her opinion, Magnus found that he missed the age of corded telephones. They gave him something to twirl around his fingers when he spoke, so he could act distracted and coy, even if the person on the other end of the line couldn’t see him doing so. Now, he instead toyed absent-mindedly with his metal ear cuff, which had gotten so cold against his skin that it seemed to burn. He cast a quick spell under his breath to warm himself before continuing.

“Here’s the thing. I’m sure you remember Alexander, who broke into my phone and called you that one time, when I got off my face on that Unseelie whiskey. Well, you may not have known that he and I have been officially dating now for just about two months, since mid-October, to be more precise. And we’ve been together in some sort of way for over three—honestly I’m not sure when I could say we really started. Things aren’t as easy as they were in the old days when you just asked someone to go steady."

Magnus realized he had strayed off-topic, and hastily leapt back to his point, his mind racing to keep up with his babbling words. “But anyways, we’ve been getting a bit  _ intense  _ lately. Three weeks ago, I told him that I love him, and he said it back! And it’s all just been so wonderful since then, and he’s slept over pretty much  _ every _ night. At this point he only really goes to his bedroom at the Institute to change his clothes, and I was just thinking—doesn’t that seem a bit unnecessary? I mean, he’s basically living with me already, right?

“Magnus—” Catarina scolded, but Magnus couldn’t stop himself. Words tumbled almost uncontrollably from his throat, which was rapidly tightening with excited nerves. Determined to state his case, he cut her off and continued.

“So then I thought I should offer him a key to my place, encourage him to feel more comfortable, more at home. But my loft doesn’t  _ have _ a key, Catarina. I lost it fifteen years ago and never bothered to replace it, and Alec  _ knows _ that. So if I get new locks put in and offer him a key, he’ll know that I went out of my way to give my front door a facelift just for his unbearably handsome self. And that seems like a much bigger deal than just casually offering him an extra key, doesn’t it? I just know that I have a habit of being a bit  _ too much _ sometimes, and I don’t want to pressure him or overwhelm him, you know? But maybe in this instance, even though it’s a bit much, he might like it anyways, right? So, what do you think?”

Magnus’s heart hammered against his chest when he finally paused for a breath. The remnants of his words clouded his face in swirls of white vapor. He suddenly felt  _ too _ warm. He had contacted Catarina to have a calm, reasonable conversation about whether it was objectively too early for him to be hinting at Alec to move in with him, and instead, he had spent several very frazzled minutes babbling nonsense into her ear. What was  _ wrong _ with him? The silence on the other end of the line terrified him more than almost any other response she might have given. It  _ was _ too early. He  _ knew _ it.

“Catarina?” he asked anxiously, his voice uncharacteristically small. “Is it really awful of me to already want to wake up next to him every single day? Is it too much, too soon?”

The line remained silent, until the phone suddenly buzzed against his ear. Magnus startled so violently that he almost tossed the infernal device across the icy pavement. Looking down at his screen, he realized with some distress that his call had long since ended. He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful that Cat had likely missed the majority of his self-inflicted humiliation, or offended that she had so readily abandoned him in his moment of need. Thankfully his new notification was a text message from the very warlock who had just hung up on him, offering some clarification on her perspective.

> **Catarina Loss - 16:37**
> 
> I refuse to sit through another one of your meltdowns.
> 
> Give the poor boy the damn key and get it done with.
> 
> We both know you’re going to regardless. There’s no reason for everyone else to suffer while you agonize over it in the meantime.

Magnus frowned stubbornly down at the message until the melted snowflakes that splattered against the screen began to type random, sporadic strings of letters into the textbox. Operating on absent-minded instinct, he wiped it off and navigated to Ragnor Fell’s name before stopping very abruptly.

Ragnor Fell was no longer in a position to answer his phone. Ragnor was not in a position to answer anything. Magnus stopped walking, gazing down at his old friend’s name with a mix of affectionate nostalgia and sadness. The acuteness of the loss was already fading, but he still  _ missed _ him.

Ragnor would probably advise Magnus not to date a Shadowhunter at all, let alone give one a key to his home. And as usual, Magnus would ignore him completely.

With a hefty sigh, Magnus admitted defeat. Catarina was right. He was only torturing himself. There was no way to know what Alec thought unless he asked him.

… Or someone who knew him very,  _ very _ well.

As quickly as Magnus conceived of the idea, he discarded it. Alec strongly disliked surprises, and even more importantly, he was an incredibly private person. Magnus always felt special just speaking to him, as if he got to share in some tiny, secret universe that no one else was privy to.

The only real solution was to push forward with his ridiculously saccharine question and hope that Alexander Lightwood did not mind just a little bit of absurdity in his life.

~*~

Silence blanketed Alec’s office, broken only by the crackling of the fireplace and the occasional hasty scratch of pen on paper. Evening shadows stretched across the floor, fading rapidly into early winter twilight. Steadfast despite the roaring flames in the stone hearth, a chill crept into the weary bones of Alec’s fingers and trailed goosebumps up his arm. He paused his writing to rub his hands together, half expecting to see his breath curling through the air in front of him. No matter how many fires they lit in the Institute—and there were many—the towering stone church never quite felt warm. Especially not in the winter. Especially not in this office, where the tall stained glass depiction of Raziel behind him seemed to perpetually bleed icy drafts into the shadowed corners of the room.

Alec picked up his pen again, blinking tiredly down at the mountain of reports before him. The Institute needed to be run, and Alec had spent so much time out on missions recently that administrative responsibilities had begun to pile up.

“Equipment logs?” came a friendly voice from the doorway. Alec looked up, sparing a hint of a smile for his sister. Izzy was dressed in easygoing mundane clothing—dark-rinse skinny jeans and a tight black crop top—as if she was getting ready for a casual evening out. “Or are they transfer reports for all the recruits eager to join my big brother’s team?”

“Follow ups on the Melusine case, actually,” he corrected. He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his shoulders, cataloging each pinched muscle, every knot and crick. “I wanted to finish writing up my own statement before getting the last one from our Downworld liaison.”

“You mean your boyfriend?” Izzy snorted. Taking his attention as permission to enter, she pranced over to one of the worn leather chairs in front of his desk and sat down. “You’re still working on that case? It’s been three weeks since she was transferred to the Gard. Can’t they start forwarding these things to someone in Alicante?”

Alec shrugged and rubbed his hands together once more. The draft from the looming angel behind him seemed suddenly stronger, and colder.  _ Be prepared to pick up your life and move it to Alicante, should that be what the Clave decides. _ Alec fought back the sudden tightness of his throat with a deep, steadying breath. “They need statements from the people who were actually there, Iz.”

“Well,” Izzy drawled. “Either way, you need a break. Clary and Simon have orchestrated a little last minute get together tonight. You’re coming along.” It was a statement, not a question.

Though she made it abundantly clear by her tone that Alec had no say in the matter, he could at least try to stand his ground. “Yeah… I don’t think so. I’m busy. And when I’m done here, I’d much rather go to Magnus’s place.” The coldness clinging to his limbs melted away, chased off by the encroaching warmth brought on by the thought of his boyfriend. His  _ boyfriend _ . The word still felt strange and thrilling to him. He found himself longing to be back at the loft, already missing the happy, homey feel of it.

“Oh?” Izzy asked innocently. “Do you have a key? Because I have it on good authority that Magnus will be out tonight.”

“I do not have a key,” Alec frowned. “As a matter of fact, not even Magnus has a key. He said he lost it a few years ago. He just uses magic for that now.” He did his best to disguise the hint of annoyance in his tone. It wasn’t any of Izzy’s business whether Magnus had given him a key or not. But if she thought he was bothered by it, she would never let it go. And he  _ wasn’t _ bothered by it. Magnus didn’t even  _ have _ a key to offer him.

Completely oblivious to the edge in his voice, Izzy babbled on. “Well then,” she declared triumphantly, “it looks like you have no choice! Magnus is coming along tonight, and you have to as well. Unless you intend on sitting around alone in your room while the rest of us hang out.”

Lips pressed into a thin line, Alec returned his attention to his papers. He knew he was losing this battle, and he dreaded the nonsense his patchwork family would get up to tonight. What new mess would he have to clean up? What bombshell drama would be dropped in their laps next? What drunken confession or happenstance realization? Why couldn’t he just have a quiet night in?

“Come on,” Izzy begged. “You’ve been working so much lately. Take an evening off.” She batted her plush black eyelashes—Alec couldn’t tell if they were fakes or if she just had very good mascara. Either way, they were perfect weapons for manipulation, emphasizing her wide, soft brown puppy eyes.

Alec stared down at the piles of documents before him. He had to admit that he was really,  _ really _ tired of paperwork and politics. He was really just tired in general. With a defeated sigh, he conceded. “I’ll talk to Magnus when I take his statement later, and then decide,” he grumbled.

Izzy’s grin lit up the room. “Perfect! Wear something you don’t mind getting messy. It’s a paint and sip.” She practically danced away, floating on her own smug cloud of self-satisfaction.

Alec glared after her. “I didn’t agree to come yet! And I am  _ not _ painting anything.”

“That’s exactly what Jace said!” Izzy called back gleefully.

Evening shadows dwindled into nightfall before a knock at his door drew Alec back out of his haze of administrative gloom. His resting frown thawed into a soft smile when he looked up and saw who darkened his doorway this time.

“Magnus,” he greeted. The warlock leaned against the door frame. His fitted red and black blazer hugged his arms and shoulders, outlining his well-cut physique. Alec swallowed back the sudden urge to drop to his knees. He was weak for this man. And  _ by the fucking angel _ , he had missed him. Had it really only been a day since they last laid eyes on each other?

Alec realized, with some surprise, that this was the longest they had been apart in weeks. Possibly since Melusine had been transferred to Idris.

“Good evening, Alexander,” Magnus answered, nearly purring.

Drinking in the sight of him, Alec pushed himself to his feet, circling the desk to meet the warlock half way. But when his boyfriend leaned in for a kiss, Alec lifted a reluctant but stern finger to Magnus’s lips instead. “We’re at the Institute,” he scolded. “We agreed after the  _ second _ hickey incident to act professional at work.”

Magnus raised one skeptical eyebrow. He reached up and surrounded Alec’s hand with his own, holding the Shadowhunter’s finger more firmly to his mouth, so his lips moved against it when he spoke. “We’re in your office, Alexander,” he pointed out, voice still sultry and low. “Not a debriefing room full of your stodgy Shadowhunter subordinates.”

“Hey,  _ I’m _ a Shadowhunter,” Alec grumbled, though his heart wasn’t in it. Their faces hovered only inches apart, his words tumbling out in quiet mumbles. “And it doesn’t matter. We’re at work.” His protests sounded weak even to him. He leaned down slowly, pulling their hands free and out of the way. But just before his lips could brush against Magnus’s, a set of hurried footsteps striding by startled him back out of his lovestruck daze. “And the door is open.” He added quickly, flashing Magnus an apologetic smile as he stepped back.

Magnus was having none of it. His lips twitched upward into a mischievous smirk, and with a flick of his wrist, the door closed. “Now no one can see us,” he purred. He crowded Alec’s space and dropped his hands to the Shadowhunter’s hips, letting his glamour crumble away.

_ Fuck, _ Alec inwardly groaned.  _ This man is going to be the end of me. _ He backed up—one last ditch attempt to stay focused—but Magnus followed, and soon Alec was pressed up against the desk with nowhere else to flee to. His body’s reaction was immediate—pulse racing, lungs faltering—even as his mind fought to stay on task. They had responsibilities. Magnus was here for professional reasons. To give an  _ official _ statement.

“I’ve missed you,” Magnus breathed. He did not try to kiss Alec again, only held him there, green-gold cat eyes searching Alec’s blue ones with surprising vulnerability.

Alec could not stifle the smile that played across his lips then, his whole body relaxing under Magnus’s touch. “I missed you too. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.”

_ We saw each other yesterday morning, _ a tiny, cynical voice noted in the back of Alec’s mind.  _ We are acting absurd. _ But he couldn’t help it—it was true. Alec had grown accustomed to falling asleep beside Magnus every night, and waking up wrapped in the warmth of his arms. His mission the night before had thrown off their new routine, sending him back to his room at the Institute, which now felt more like a half-abandoned storage space for his clothes than a lived-in bedroom.

“I could hardly sleep without you,” Alec admitted sheepishly. He relished the way Magnus’s body felt against him now—they fit together perfectly, like they belonged that way.

_ I like being absurd _ , Alec decided. He leaned down to finally accept the kiss Magnus had offered before, momentarily brushing aside his responsibilities in favor of relenting to the needs of his heart.

“Ah ah ah,” Magnus cut in. He intercepted Alec’s lips with his index finger. “We’re at work,  _ Mr. Lightwood _ , remember?” he taunted. “Your words, not mine.”

“You’re the worst.” Alec groaned.

Magnus only winked. “Come now, you wouldn’t want to offend any of your fellow nephilim, now would you? Even with the door closed… well, you know how we get.” He dragged his fingertip from Alec’s lips down his neck, tracing his Deflect rune, prolonging what Alec deemed to be unfairly cruel torture.

Alec huffed. He couldn’t argue—he was the one who brought up their new rule in the first place. As gingerly as he could manage while still clearly portraying his grumpiness, Alec extricated himself from between Magnus and the desk, shuffling reluctantly to his seat. Magnus flung himself dramatically over one of the available chairs across from him, his back against one arm rest, and one leg hooked over the other. The pose was incredibly distracting, his legs parted and shirt slightly lifted to reveal a torturously narrow view of his sculpted abs. It took Alec a few extra seconds of rummaging through his desk to find the relevant documents, unable to fully focus with his attention divided between his task and the warlock’s inexorable allure.

“Read this over,” he instructed. He pushed a small stack of papers toward Magnus. “Answer the attached questionnaire, make any additions or clarifications that you feel are necessary, then sign the bottom here. Oh—and print, not cursive, please,” Alec added, remembering his boyfriend’s penchant for looping, elegant script.

“Shadowhunters and their paperwork,” Magnus scoffed. He snatched up the pages, eyes scanning over them. Eventually he had to sit up and lean over the desk to begin writing, and Alec mourned the loss of the pleasant view.

Alec fidgeted awkwardly in his seat when he noticed Magnus reach a very specific question on the form, and Magnus looked up at him, eyes wide. “They’re really asking why we waited overnight to apprehend her?”

“Yeah,” Alec rasped. His cheeks blazed hot, remembering exactly what they had been doing in Michigan the night before Melusine was arrested. A drawn out moment of silence followed while the warlock stared, flabbergasted, down at the papers in his hand.

“They’re actually doing it,” Magnus stuttered quietly. “I knew the Inquisitor was threatening to relocate you, but I didn’t think… Gods. You were  _ right _ .”

“Right about what?” Alec asked. He squinted slightly with one eye and raised a skeptical brow, trying to follow Magnus’s train of thought. His knee bounced beneath his desk.

“They’re combing over the mission looking for threads to pull,” Magnus pointed out. His jaw clenched when he leaned back in his chair, abandoning the report to focus his intense, shimmering gaze on Alec. “They’re seeking out excuses to vilify you. You  _ said _ this would happen. You knew it beforehand, and I got angry with you for it.” Alec saw the shimmer in Magnus’s golden eyes for what it was, then—guilt.

“Don’t do that,” he soothed. “You were right, back then. I was being an ass.” He paused to let his words sink in, waiting for Magnus to nod, and his shoulders to relax. Then he continued. “But… yes. Normally, the investigation would be closed by now. Technically, I shouldn’t even be the one administering this to you. Underhill should. But he apparently also disagrees with Inquisitor Herondale’s methods, so we got lucky. Imogen is looking for holes in our story—something she can use to demonstrate that I’m not fit to lead the Institute. She’s hiding behind protocol.” Alec clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white. 

Growing up, he had always believed in what the Clave stood for. Honor. Protection. Duty. Even at his own expense. Shadowhunters were the last line of defense between Hell and Earth, guided by laws passed down from the angels themselves. Now, those very same laws were being used—no,  _ abused _ —to try to drive him out. “ _ Sed lex dura lex, _ ” he mumbled bitterly.

Glaring down at his lap, trying to hide the frustration that burned behind his eyes and simmered deeper into his mind, Alec did not notice Magnus shift to take his hand until he felt gentle fingers covering his own. His fist immediately relaxed, and he laced his fingers through the warlock’s. In a grounding gesture, he stroked his thumb against Magnus’ hand, his calloused fingers scratching across the warlock’s smooth, caramel skin. 

“Do the others know?” Magnus asked softly. “What the Inquisitor is trying to do? And worse, how she is trying to do it?”

Alec shook his head. “Izzy, Jace, and Clary are reckless,” he answered. “This isn’t something that can be fixed with their particular brand of solutions. Telling them would only make things worse. I don’t need any more enemies in Idris than I already have. We have to be careful about this.”

More and more, Alec was agreeing with the famous motto adopted by the progressive Blackthorn family, “ _ Lex malla, lex nulla,” _ meaning “ _ A bad law is no law.” _ Inquisitor Herondale was clutching some of the worst laws close to her chest, attempting to wield each one against him like a sharply honed weapon.

Magnus nodded. “Okay,” he sighed. “Well then, we might as well take advantage of the opportunity your man Underhill has provided us with. Tell me what you want me to write.”


	2. Aggressive Splatter Paintings (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izzy convinces Alec to take a break from work and spend an evening out with friends. Fueled by wine and regret, Jace makes an unsettling confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to read this chapter with extra features like pretty formatting and opening/closing songs? [Check it out at Cloudburst.Ink](https://cloudburst.ink/speak-hush-2/)!

Pale snowflakes dusted Alec’s messy black hair as he stepped into the cozy mundane wine shop, flanked by Magnus, Jace, and Izzy. Winter chill trailed inside after them from the frozen Brooklyn street and fought momentarily to carry the door back open. Cheeks flushing pink from the sudden change in temperature, the four of them kicked the slush off of their boots on a coarse brown welcome mat just inside, which read in pine green and crimson letters, ‘ _ The weather outside is frightful, but the wine is so delightful! _ ’

A single red and green plastic-covered table stretched down the center of the shop, crowded with over a dozen blank white canvases on tabletop easels. It squeezed very narrowly between shoulder-high shelves packed with deep green glass wine bottles, varying in vintages and varietals. Alec’s anxious brain instantly cataloged all the different ways in which the store—and everything in it—could be so easily and  _ completely _ destroyed by a pack of rowdy, drinking Shadowhunters. 

And of, course, one particular warlock who was known far and wide for his penchant for causing chaos—so much so that the Los Angeles Shadow Market even sold a map pointing out all the known locations where he had caused trouble. Alec imagined that it would be pointless to make such a map for New York, since he was almost certain there wasn’t a city block where Magnus hadn’t wreaked some havoc in some decade or another. It was entirely possible though that the Shadowhunters were still leaps and bounds more troublesome than Alec’s boyfriend. Jace alone could probably lay the place to waste in a fleeting moment of reckless mischief.

_ How _ had Alec let Izzy talk him into this?

“I’m going to regret this,” he grumbled, eyeing a small crowd of milling mundanes near what appeared to be a makeshift bar on the other side of the room, but was really just a bunch of precariously stacked wooden crates—another thing that could be demolished by a nephilim’s sneeze.

“Willing to fight demons on a nightly basis, but terrified of a mundane  _ paint and sip _ ,” Izzy chortled—the sound incredibly unladylike, which Alec was tempted to point out in his irritated state. Knowing that would have been petty, he settled for rolling his eyes.

“I’m not scared,” he retorted. “I just have better things I could be doing with my time.” Just thinking of all of the work he still had piled up sent a wave of anxiety through him. His world might be crashing down around him any day if the Inquisitor had her way, but here he was wasting time with wine and acrylics.

“You mean better  _ people _ ,” Jace teased, elbowing Alec playfully. “And he’s standing right next to you, so you have no excuse not to be here. If I have to sit through this, so do you. You’ll have plenty of time to ‘ _ snuggle’ _ with your boyfriend later.” Jace winked. Suddenly, Alec was glad for the cold still biting at his cheeks and disguising his blush. He hated it when Jace made fun of him, but the thought of getting to go back to the loft and cuddle Magnus already had his heart fluttering. He tried and failed to shoot Jace a menacing glare, instead only pulling off something mildly grumpy.

Magnus snorted. “Green does not become you, blondie,” he shot back. “Maybe your unwillingness to treat physical affection with the reverence it deserves is why you don’t have a snuggling partner of your  _ own _ .”

Alec’s eyes couldn’t help but flicker down to the stretch of the warlock’s body as he shed his outerwear. He shrugged his coat and jacket off of his shoulders and hung them over a hook near the door, leaving him in only a black button up, which he immediately set to rolling up to his elbows.

The resulting sly spark in Jace’s eyes spelled trouble, and Alec fully prepared himself to defend his boyfriend against his  _ parabatai’s _ penchant for mercilessly roasting his closest friends. As Izzy raced off to find wine, Jace opened his mouth to retaliate—but he cut off before speaking a single word, glaring straight ahead and clenching his jaw tightly shut.

Alec followed Jace’s gaze to the other side of the store, just past where Izzy had darted off toward. The reason for Jace’s sudden tension became apparent when he spotted one bright head of ginger hair moving between the mundanes crowded around the wine bar.

Clary and Simon were already there, and they were holding hands.

Banter forgotten, Alec leaned in close to his  _ parabatai _ and gripped his shoulder with a steadying hand. “Hey,” he murmured, quietly enough that only Jace could hear. “You okay?”

Jace only shot him an embittered glare. “I’m fine,” he insisted sharply. He brushed off Alec’s hand and strode after Izzy.

“Okay then,” Alec grumbled to the empty air.

It was then that Simon noticed them across the room, waving his arms wildly in greeting. Clary’s eyes found Jace and Izzy first, her previously carefree, jubilant expression hardening into an even, forced smile as she dropped Simon’s hand. Simon, to his benefit, kept waving as if nothing had happened—as if Clary withdrawing her display of affection was a completely expected and everyday occurrence that he hardly even noticed. Alec suspected that was for Clary’s benefit. He wondered if Clary knew how clearly in love with her the vampire was.

Weaving between the loitering mundanes, Clary ran straight over to Izzy and greeted her enthusiastically, noticeably ignoring Jace. Alec wondered if he had missed some new drama between the Morgenstern siblings. Magnus voiced a similar train of thought.

“What’s up with him?” Magnus asked.

Alec shrugged. “No idea. Whatever this is, it’s new.”

“I see,” Magnus mused. He stared after Jace curiously.

The six of them converged near the back of the table that bisected the store, everyone but Magnus and Alec sipping from generously poured glasses of wine or beer.

“Oh my gosh you guys!” Clary exclaimed, apparently recovered from her moment of thorniness. “I can’t believe you all actually showed up. This is going to be  _ so _ fun.”

“Completely epic,” Simon echoed. “I can’t wait to see what everyone paints. I’m pretty confident in my own skill—I have a lot of practice painting D&D figurines.”

“Aren’t we all supposed to be painting the same thing?” Alec asked dryly.

“Only if you’re boring,” Izzy shot back.

“Ooh!” Clary blurted. “Before we forget.” She scampered off toward the far wall, which was lined with hooks holding an abundance of bright blue, tie-dyed aprons. Upon her return, she skipped through the small group and distributed one of the paint-splattered monstrosities to each of them.

“I’m not wearing one of those,” Alec deadpanned.

“Nope, me neither,” Jace concurred.

“I’ll take one!” Magnus declared. “This shirt is  _ de la Renta _ , and I don’t fancy having to magic any paint stains off of it. And Alexander will wear one too.”

Before he knew what was happening, a blue-dyed loop of canvas cloth was tossed over Alec’s head. It was dusty, and smelled like bitter, dried paint. “Hey,” he protested. He tried to tug the apron off, but Magnus intercepted his efforts.

“Oh, stop it,” Magnus admonished, flitting behind Alec’s back to tie the apron in place. “You look very cute.”

“I’m not—Magnus, I don’t want to look cute,” Alec argued. “Leave me be!” He moved to untie himself, but Magnus caught his hands, lacing their fingers together.

“Please?” Magnus asked.

Alec immediately ceased his struggles. He couldn’t pull away now—it would be cruel. Instead, he shook his head stubbornly.

“Come on,” the warlock coaxed, pouting. He held Alec’s eyes with his own, wide and pleading. “Be a good sport. For me? I want to take a cute selfie with you when we’re done, both of us holding our paintings.”

Alec bit his lip. He couldn’t refuse Magnus’s puppy eyes, especially not when the warlock allowed a passing shimmer of feline gold to ripple through them.  _ I’m such a fucking disaster _ , he scolded himself.  _ He’s doing it on purpose _ . But the battle was already lost.

A smack on the back of his head jolted Alec out of his lovestruck daze. “You’re so fucking whipped, dude,” Jace teased. “Go sit down.” Jace pointed with his chin to Alec’s seat.

“Shut up,” Alec griped.

“Actually, Alexander and I haven’t gotten around to exploring whipping,” Magnus chimed in very matter-of-factly. Jace promptly choked on the sip of wine he was taking. Heat rushed to Alec’s face.

“Magnus!” Alec exclaimed. “Can you not?”

“Not what, darling?” The warlock played innocent, very intently examining one of his many rings, but Alec caught the flash of mischief in his fleeting glance. “Is that a hard limit for you?” he purred. Izzy and Jace both snickered, heading toward their seats. Clary and Simon, to their credit, politely averted their gazes and pretended not to have heard.

Cheeks burning, Alec occupied himself seeking out the mundane man responsible for pouring the wine. He was cute—taller than Alec, which was rare, with long brown hair pulled back into a bun.

“Which group are you here with?” the man asked as he tipped the bottle of Syrah to a clean glass. His eyes—a muddled hazel—drifted across Alec’s chest and lingered on his arms.

“The troublemakers in the back,” Alec answered, gesturing toward them. “I should warn you now—they’re a disaster waiting to happen. Don’t let the tiny redhead come back for seconds. And  _ especially _ don’t let the blonde one. Trouble runs in their family.”

“Yes sir,” the man said, and winked.

Alec stuttered for a moment, taken aback. Mundanes were a strange, unfamiliar species to him. Were they all this… forward? “Uh, thanks,” he said stupidly, accepting the glass as the man held it out, and immediately fleeing back to the table.

When he returned to his seat, Magnus had one suspicious eyebrow raised. “Making friends?” the warlock inquired, eyes moving from Alec beside him to the mundane across the room.

“Um. Apparently.” Alec answered awkwardly. “I’m not really sure.”

“Mhmm,” Magnus said. “Okay.” Before Alec could seek clarification on his boyfriend’s sidelong glance, the instructor called for them all to be seated.

Magnus sat at the head of the table in his typical grandiose fashion, with Alec and then Jace to his right. To his left was Izzy, then Clary across from Jace—the canvases seemingly blocking any unwanted direct eye contact—leaving Simon at his usual place, by Clary’s side. They were crowded elbow to elbow around the back of the table, the rest of the seats occupied by festively-dressed mundanes, most of whom were already encroaching upon being tipsy.

The first half of the session slid by surprisingly quickly. Alec begrudgingly picked up a brush and followed the instructions to the dot, and eventually the picture on his canvas began to take shape into something vaguely recognizable as a snow-covered landscape. He kept his foot resting firmly against Magnus’s under the table, his boyfriend’s presence calming and grounding—even when he slid his foot up Alec’s ankle, making his leg jump enough to knock over a cup of water and sending brushes flying to the floor. Magnus and Isabelle prattled away the whole time, only occasionally pulling him into the conversation, much to his relief. In such public places, Alec usually found himself preferring to sit on the sidelines, affectionately observing his friends and family and only occasionally contributing to the chatter.

Jace was the first to make trouble—which Alec should have expected. Just over fifteen minutes into the painting, the instructor made the grave mistake of demonstrating how to make a snow effect by mixing water into the paler paint colors and splattering it gently across the canvas. Jace took to this method very enthusiastically.

Too enthusiastically.

Jace’s painting could only be described as an abstract representation of chaos conveyed in splattered dots. He spent the next hour and a half doing nothing but splatter painting, glaring at his canvas as if it had personally offended him, moving from whites, to greys, and then—at the instructor’s very patient and sympathetic recommendation—to other, angrier colors like red and black. Sometimes he stopped for minutes at a time, contemplating his work like a tortured artist, staring into it as if the contrasting colors held all the answers in the universe. Alec did his best to ignore his  _ parabatai _ , only commenting when some stray, flying bits of red paint soared onto his own canvas.

“I regret everything I’ve ever done that brought me to this moment,” Alec declared after his third attempt to blend the fugitive angry red splatter into his painting. “This has all been a terrible mistake.” The snow was beginning to look bloodstained, the repeated layers of blending creating a surprisingly realistic illusion of crimson leaking through ice.

“And I thought I was the dramatic one,” Magnus smirked.

“Hey, at least I’m  _ trying _ to follow the instructions.” Alec glared at his picture, then lifted his wine glass to his lips. After his third generous pour, he had a pleasant buzz going.

Across the table from Alec, on Magnus’s other side, Izzy snickered. “That’s because you’re boring and incapable of breaking the rules. Magnus and I are creating  _ art _ .”

Alec could not see what Izzy and Magnus were painting, but whatever it was, it was clearly not what the instructor intended. Shortly after the start of the session, both of them had leapt up from their seats to pour copious amounts of additional, brightly-colored paints onto their paper plates. Magnus had even managed to find glitter paints, while several of Izzy’s shimmered with a subtle metallic finish.

“Oh is  _ that _ what you call it?” Alec shot back. He grinned despite himself. Maybe it was just the wine sneaking up on him, but Alec felt… relaxed. “I’ll show you rule-breaking,” he avowed under his breath. Magnus, having clearly heard Alec’s mumbled threat, watched with wide, horrified eyes as he reached over and dipped his brush on Jace’s water-flooded plate. Alec pointedly ignored his  _ parabatai’s _ offended glare, then flicked a few droplets of runny red paint in Izzy’s direction.

“Alec!” Izzy squealed, diving entirely too dramatically out of her chair to avoid the few stray bits that weren’t shielded by the back of her canvas. “What the hell?! You’re lucky I’m wearing an apron or I’d murder you myself!” A few mundanes glanced over to observe the drama, snickering to each other.

“Suffer as I have,” Alec declared. He tensed when he saw Izzy reaching for her own paint-covered plate before Magnus grabbed both of their arms.

“Sit back down, the both of you!” Magnus ordered. “Alexander, do  _ not _ start a paint fight in this respectable establishment. Honestly, you are the last person I thought I would have to say this to.”

“Don’t accuse me of being boring,” Alec grumbled, but he yielded and lowered his brush.

“Weapons  _ down _ , Shadowhunters,” Clary said through her giggles. “It doesn’t matter if you follow the demonstration or not, as long as you’re having fun.” Though Alec could not see what she was painting, the colors on her plate indicated she was at least vaguely adhering to the instructions.  _ For once _ , he thought wryly. Maybe all the lessons Alec had taught her were finally sinking in.

Next to her, Simon agreed. “It’s about expressing yourself. Which I know can be a little challenging for  _ some _ of us here.” His eyes darted pointedly between Jace and Alec before he hastily moved on in response to the unamused glare he received from both of them. “Hey—maybe we can make it, like, a regular thing! You know, a Downworlder-Shadowhunter paint night or something.” Simon glanced hesitantly across the table at Jace again, seeing something Alec could not.

“Not happening,” Alec answered.

“I can’t really see Raphael Santiago wearing one of these aprons,” Magnus smirked. “Not his style, I’m afraid.”

Jace paused his painting again, glaring at the canvas like he had been sporadically all evening. But this time, following Simon’s eyes, Alec realized something was off. Jace wasn’t staring  _ at _ the painting. He was staring  _ past _ it. He was watching Clary. The two of them had a very obvious, silent conversation with their eyes before Clary looked pointedly away, focusing on her painting. Both of them clearly ended the interaction much more tense than they were before.

_ What the hell? _ Alec thought.  _ What’s going  _ on _ between them? _

“Or the Seelie Queen perched over a folding chair mixing acrylics, surrounded by her knights,” Izzy grinned. “That would be a sight!” Magnus agreed. “We’d have to keep the booze away from her. Seelies like to do wicked things with their wine.”

The instructor interrupted their wild speculations to call out a twenty minute break, followed by a cacophony of sliding chairs and increased conversation. Izzy and Magnus joined Simon and Clary at the bar, leaving Alec alone with Jace. As they left, Izzy jerked her head meaningfully toward Alec’s  _ parabatai _ in a silent plea. Alec could imagine exactly what she would say if she expressed the sentiment out loud— _ talk to him, _ she would beg.  _ He’s weirding out the mundanes! _

Several of the aforementioned mundanes wandered around checking out all of the paintings—though they pointedly ignored Jace’s—and Alec was tempted to turn his over to hide it from their judgy eyes. He knew he wasn’t an artist. He didn’t need their confirmation. A voice behind him cut in before the thought got very far.

“What’s going on in the side of yours here?” the man joked good-naturedly, gesturing vaguely to the red stain on Alec’s painting. “Did someone meet an unfortunate accident?” Alec spun around to see the handsome mundane man from behind the bar, apparently taking a break as the instructor poured drinks.

“That’s one word for him,” Alec answered, nodding in Jace’s direction affectionately. Jace only rolled his eyes and stomped off, sliding out of the front door of the shop. Alec knew that look well. Jace was spiraling, and he needed Alec to drag him out of it—despite his almost inevitable insistence that he would want to be left alone.

The mundane man shifted his gaze to Jace’s splattered, discordant mess. “Your friend seems to be a rebellious type,” he observed.

“Looks just like the instructor’s to me,” Alec answered impassively. To his surprise, the man laughed.

“Is he your boyfriend?” he asked. Alec made a face at that, sparking another laugh from the stranger. “I, uh, no. He’s more like a brother,” Alec managed, and the man looked pleased. It surprised Alec just how much the idea of dating Jace appalled him. He had come a long way since his days of unrequited pining. The thought had him searching the room for Magnus. “Actually,” he added, ”my boyfriend is just over there.”

Izzy and Magnus were returning, Magnus holding a glass in each hand. “Here you go,  _ darling _ ,” Magnus greeted, handing over his extra glass. His eyes slid over the mundane with no small amount of distaste, and Alec wondered briefly if the guy had offended Magnus in some way earlier in the evening.

“Thanks,” Alec said, tilting his head curiously. He searched Magnus’s expression for any clue, but came up with nothing as the warlock’s countenance swiftly brightened back into the usual suave, carefree mask he wore in public. “I actually need to step outside,” Alec sighed. “I should check on Jace and make sure he isn’t doing anything we’ll all regret.”

“Like starting a paint fight?” Izzy supplied sweetly.

“And I should get back to work,” the mundane offered. He seemed suddenly awkward. “It was nice to meet you!”

“Uh, yeah,” Alec answered. “You too.” When the stranger had finally left, he turned to Magnus. “I’ll only be a few minutes, okay?” He set his wine down beside his painting, shrugging his coat on and abandoning his apron across his chair. 

“Don’t mind me, Alexander,” Magnus replied. “I’m not going anywhere.” There was something just slightly off about his tone, prompting Alec to linger hesitantly. He closely examined his boyfriend.

After a few silent seconds, Magnus rolled his eyes. “Go!” he insisted. “Deal with your moody  _ parabatai _ .”

Alec watched him for another long moment before conceding. “Okay,” he yielded. “I’ll be right back.”

The icy nighttime air hit Alec’s lungs hard. It was  _ freezing _ out, but at least the snow had stopped. Jace sat against the darkened windows of the tiny shop next door, his hands shoved in the pockets of his coat, and his head leaned back against the glass. His eyes were closed, his breath misting around his face in tiny, swirling puffs. He looked peaceful like this. Quiet. Alone. But as Alec’s footsteps approached, he opened his eyes and his entire expression hardened again, closed and defensive before either of them had said a word.

“I don’t want to talk,” Jace grunted.

“Fine,” Alec answered. “Then I guess I just have to stand here awkwardly. But I’d much rather you tell me what the hell is going on between you and Clary.”

Jace’s eyes widened, darting up to him. “How did you know that?”

“Because I’m not blind,” Alec scoffed. Then, more softly, “And because I’m your  _ parabatai _ . I know when something is really wrong with you.” The possibilities tumbled through Alec’s mind. With two people as headstrong and stubborn as Jace and Clary, it could be anything. The moment even the tiniest one of their convictions clashed, there were always fireworks.

Jace’s entire posture deflated. He shrank back against the frosted glass behind him, exhaling roughly. His breath was unsteady, as if even his lungs trembled while he searched for an explanation. Finally, he spoke up.

“Clary and I kissed,” he said. “And I don’t know what to do.” He stared down at the sidewalk, at his boots, as if they might somehow hold all of the answers.

Alec blinked. “Oh.” That was it? Of all the possibilities he had been expecting, this was not one of them.

Alec remembered that kiss—it happened right in the middle of the Ops Center, in front of everyone, so it was the subject of endless gossip after Jace discovered he was a Morgenstern. Alec had been bitter about it at the time. It felt like Jace was choosing Clary over him,  _ again _ . Just one of many tiny betrayals, all piling up into a mountain of resentment.

But Jace and Clary were siblings now, and Alec knew that the feelings he harbored for Jace had never been love. Not the kind of love he found with Magnus, anyways. Jace had always been Alec’s brother.

“I thought you two had already, you know, addressed that,” Alec ventured. “You didn’t know you were siblings at the time. It wasn’t your fault.”

Jace shook his head, still staring at the ground. His next words came so quietly that Alec barely caught them. “I’m not talking about that,” he mumbled. When he looked up, his eyes were rimmed with red, not just from the cold. He searched Alec’s face, and Alec knew exactly what he was looking for: judgement, disdain, disgust. Alec schooled his expression carefully.

“You kissed her?” he asked quietly. “Again? Recently?”

Jace nodded, burying his face in his hands. “A few days ago.”

“Did she kiss you back?” Alec pressed gently. His very nature balked at the idea of prying, but he had to know the volatility of the powder keg Jace had ignited—were Clary and Jace on the same page about whatever unfathomable mess Alec had just stumbled into?

Jace nodded again, his white-knuckled fingers bobbing along with his head. His words were muffled by his palms. “She did, Alec. She kissed me back.” His voice cracked at the end, betraying the true depth of his distress.

“And now you both regret it,” Alec finished.

Jace dropped his hands and glared at him. “No,” he growled. He held Alec’s even stare only momentarily, then the air rushed out of him. “Yes,” he sighed. “I don’t know.”

Alec didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even really know what to think. This was so far out of his realm of experience. It was overwhelming. And, he thought, it must be even more so for them. He fixed his eyes up toward the sky, at the lingering snow clouds that threatened another few inches of accumulation.

“So what, then? She regrets it, and you’re just going to be a dick about it? You’re better than that, man. Even if she wasn’t  _ your sister _ .”

“I just…” Jace started. For once, he struggled for words. “I guess I hoped she and I could talk about it, instead of just awkwardly avoiding each other. I feel awful.”

Alec cast a glance back toward the doorway of the shop. “Then maybe stop glaring at her?” he suggested. “Give her some space. Let her process. She deserves the freedom to draw her own conclusions. Stop  _ hovering _ .” He waved one hand in a small, vague circle.

Jace was quiet at that, and when Alec looked back over toward him, he was watching him with tired eyes, exhaustion and resignation permeating every aspect of his posture. “Man, when did you get so wise?” Jace forced a lighthearted chuckle.

“Comes from being Head of an Institute,” Alec joked.

“You sure you’re not just getting soft now that you’ve fallen into your own romantic bliss?” Jace teased. His grin relaxed into something more genuine.

“Oh, just shut up and take my advice,” Alec groaned.

At that, Jace’s expression grew serious once again. “I will,” he said. “I’ll try. I mean… thank you. For listening, and for not being an ass.” He held his hand out to Alec, and Alec clasped it tightly, pulling Jace into a hug. It had been awhile since they had the chance to talk like this. Despite the topic, it felt good to have that connection again. Alec hoped that it was only their first step back toward the closeness they used to share.

The session had already restarted when they re-entered the building, and though everyone was loud and talkative, Alec did his best to slip in quietly and avoid making a commotion. Jace walked right across the front of the room.

“He’s never going to learn common decency, is he?” Alec complained under his breath, turning to Magnus beside him.

The warlock shrugged noncommittally. “He’s a nephilim, it’s practically part of their genetic makeup,” he quipped, and pursed his lips. He shot Alec a very meaningful, sharp glance.

“Hey!” Alec uttered. “What was  _ that _ for?” He narrowed one eye, wondering what he possibly could have done over the last twenty minutes to deserve that when he wasn’t even in the room at all. Magnus had clearly been stewing on something.

The warlock blushed bright red, which on its own was baffling enough to Alec. Magnus almost  _ never _ blushed. “Nothing,” Magnus said quickly. He stared intently down at one of his paintbrushes, picking through the bristles to clear off the tiny beads of dried paint that had formed on them. On Alec’s other side, Jace snorted.

“Oooh, you’ve really gone and done it now,” he whispered, low enough that Alec knew Magnus likely couldn’t discern the words. “That’s what you get for flirting with the bartender.”

Magnus eyed them both suspiciously.

“Shut up, Jace,” Alec hissed. “I was not. And would you  _ quit it _ with the splatter painting already?!”

“I will not quit it,” Jace declared. “As a matter of fact, I think I’ve found my true calling.” He was definitely back to his usual self.

Alec abandoned his efforts to control his  _ parabatai _ , focusing his attention fully on his boyfriend instead. “Magnus,” he stated very calmly. “You’re clearly bothered by something, and I’d like to know what.”

“I told you,” Magnus insisted. “Nothing’s the matter.” It was clearly a lie.

_ Oh for the angel’s sake _ , Alec thought.  _ This man is impossible. _ He reached out and plucked the paintbrush from Magnus’s hand, dropping it in the water next to his easel. Then he stole Magnus’s hand for himself and enveloped it between both of his, holding firmly when Magnus made a feeble attempt to pull away, before gently kissing the warlock’s knuckles.

“If you don’t tell me now,” he murmured, “I’m going to have to find some way to convince you.”

“Gross,” Izzy groaned. “Keep it down over there. I’m not drunk enough to listen to this.” But Magnus seemed very satisfied by this turn of events, sticking his tongue out in Izzy’s direction.

Just then, Alec’s phone shrilled from his pocket. Only a few numbers could bypass his phone on silent, so he slipped it into his hand immediately and checked the caller.  _ Andrew Underhill _ .

“Sorry,” Alec mumbled. “I have to take this.”

“I know,” Magnus sighed. “Go on. I’ll catch you up when you get back.”

“Thank you.” Alec leaned over and kissed Magnus’s cheek before hustling back outside, answering just before the call hit voicemail. “Andrew, what is it?”

The call turned out to be relatively routine—a request to extend a patrol after they found evidence of a demonic-related murder, so the team could try to track down the culprit. By protocol, such requests required the approval of the Head of the Institute.

As the conversation dragged on, Alec managed to find his way around and behind the shop through a narrow, unlit alley. Behind the building, he discovered a padlocked garage. Above it, a dim, flickering flood light shone down across the pavement, illuminating a faded, rusted sign that read  _ Deliveries Only _ . Just outside of the lighted area, a delivery truck for a nearby bakery was parked in the shadows. Alec wandered over to it and leaned back against the cold metal, listening distractedly as Underhill explained the situation.

A few stray snowflakes fluttered down in the beam of light that illuminated the pavement in front of Alec. The silence was a soothing respite from the chaos inside. Across the asphalt, the muted echo of footsteps bounced between the closely nested buildings, drawing Alec’s attention back to the alley he had just come from.

Someone’s silhouette emerged from the shadows beyond the edge of the flood light’s domain. Alec didn’t move yet, knowing that he was also beyond the perimeter of the light, confident that any passing mundane would not see him. He relaxed when a pair of golden cat eyes flashed in the dark, and he stepped fully into the light, waving absent-mindedly so that Magnus could see him.

“Can it wait for a shift change?” he asked Underhill, responding to the conversation that he was barely paying attention to. Magnus walked slowly across the asphalt, eyes sliding over Alec in an almost predatory manner. It sent a shiver through the Shadowhunter’s body that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature.

“The thing just straight up killed a werewolf like it was nothing,” Underhill was saying. “No defensive wounds at all. The team wants to stay out and go after whatever it is. They’re worried it might target mundanes next, where it has easier pickings.”

“Mhmm,” Alec mumbled in response, thoroughly distracted by the evil glint in Magnus’s eyes. “How long were they on patrol before they found the body?”

When Magnus reached Alec, the warlock slid his hands around Alec’s waist. Alec leaned into the contact, welcoming his boyfriend’s warmth. Then Magnus leaned up and pressed his lips ever so gently to Alec’s neck.

Alec had a very difficult time concentrating after that. Magnus’s lips only got more insistent, his teeth scraping against Alec’s Deflect rune, his chilled fingers wandering beneath the hem of Alec’s shirt. Finally, the conversation seemed to be coming to a close, and Alec had to fight valiantly to stifle a moan when Magnus plastered himself against Alec’s body.

“No Andrew,” Alec managed, beyond impressed at how steady he miraculously kept his voice. “Keep them on mission, and send out backups if need be. But if there’s no sign of it after two hours, bring them in. It’s not worth it to risk exhaustion. That’s how people end up dead.” He heard himself tremble slightly on the last word when Magnus cupped his ass. “Anything else?” he demanded a bit too abruptly.

“Nope,” Andrew said apologetically, his voice tinny though the call. “Sorry to interrupt your night out.”

“It’s fine,” Alec chirped. “Have a good night, bye.” He rushed the words out and then hung up the phone as quickly as possible. After he shoved it into his pocket, he finally caught Magnus’s mouth in his, his hands gripping the sides of the warlock’s face. It had somehow been over thirty six hours since Alec and Magnus had last kissed, which Alec deemed to be  _ far _ too long. He hadn’t realized just how much he  _ needed _ it until that exact moment. “What. Did I do. To deserve. This. Unexpected visit?” he murmured between kisses.

Magnus finally relented on his teasing, much to Alec’s disappointment. He stared up at Alec with wide, innocent eyes. “Can’t I just want to kiss my boyfriend?” he asked, layering his charm on thick. He trailed tiny kisses along Alec’s jaw, hugging Alec tighter. “Is everything okay with your handsome nephilim friend?” he added, far too casually, his words muffled by Alec’s skin.

Alec pulled back, confused. “Underhill?” he clarified hesitantly.

Magnus paused, and stared up at him with a stubborn, pouting expression Alec had never seen before. “So you agree he’s handsome,” he said.

Alec blinked back at him. “I… guess?”

“As handsome as that mundane boy in there?” Magnus pressed, turning his gaze into the darkness beyond the perimeter of the flickering light above them and scuffing his boot against the frozen ground.

The gears in Alec’s mind slowly clicked into place, and the realization dawned on him. “Wait…” Alec trailed. “Are you jeal—you’re jealous.” He couldn’t hide the dopey grin that stretched across his face. Warmth spread through his chest. He knew he shouldn’t be so satisfied by this, but he couldn’t help it. His boyfriend was  _ jealous _ .

Magnus glared up at him. “I don’t get jealous,” he stated firmly.

“You’re jealous,” Alec teased, knowing he was acting far too smug not to face repercussions later, but not caring. “You’re actually jealous.” He hugged Magnus closer, tracing his fingers over the warlock’s back.

“I’ve never gotten jealous,” Magnus insisted. He narrowed his eyes dangerously, but he did not pull away.

Alec smirked. “And I’ve never been obscenely in love with the High Warlock of Brooklyn.” Magnus struggled and failed to maintain his pout, his entire body softening at the statement.

“See?” Alec nosed Magnus’s face to the side to nibble at his neck. “Jealous.” The word was almost unintelligible, lost in his efforts to thoroughly kiss every part of the warlock that he could reach.

“You’re insufferable,” Magnus growled. He pushed Alec backwards until he had him pinned against the truck, kissing him roughly. Alec’s arms fell to Magnus’s waist, which he used as an anchor to hold the warlock tightly against him. As Magnus pulled back again, he tugged at Alec’s lip carefully between his teeth. “And you’re  _ mine _ ,” Magnus murmured possessively, with just the slightest hint of a whine. Then quickly added, “but I’m  _ not _ jealous.”

“Well,” Alec answered, already breathless. “We can agree that I’m yours.” His grin matched Magnus’s.

“Now is not a good time to test me, Shadowhunter,” Magnus shot back playfully. His tone carried just enough of a threatening edge to keep Alec’s heart hammering, unable to explain the overwhelming need he felt in that moment to undress Magnus on the spot. “I’ve been very cranky. My boyfriend was out all night last night.” He met Alec in another kiss, then another.

“Maybe you should take your boyfriend home then,” Alec suggested, his voice low. “And let him make it up to you.” He could barely restrain himself, already tugging at Magnus’s coat despite the freezing air.

Magnus wasted no time spinning up a portal right where they stood, leaving only a dizzying swirl of confused snowflakes in their wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not ready to put the story down yet? [Check out the next chapter at Cloudburst.Ink](https://cloudburst.ink/speak-hush-3/)! I always post a chapter ahead over there! 🖤


	3. Every Detail in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus takes the lead when Alec decides he is ready to take a new, big step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to read this chapter with extra features like pretty formatting and opening/closing songs? [Check it out at Cloudburst.Ink](https://cloudburst.ink/speak-hush-3/)!

Alec stumbled backwards through the portal, Magnus’s hands on his chest driving him toward the bedroom. Warm air pressed in on them from all directions. The loft was dark enough that Alec could barely see, and remarkably quiet—the silence broken only by their heavy breaths and faltering footsteps. When they collided with the wall next to the bedroom door, Magnus used the position to his advantage, caging Alec in between his elbows.

Magnus’s ferocious feline eyes flashed in the darkness, pupils expanding. His hands clung to Alec’s shirt, his tongue tracing the shape of his Deflect rune, and Alec wanted  _ more _ .

“Maybe I was a  _ little _ jealous,” Magnus murmured under his breath, the words hot against Alec’s neck.

Alec laughed—he couldn’t help it. The sound was soft and warm and happy, the weight of Magnus’s hands bouncing on his chest. Only a few days before, Alec had witnessed his warlock slaughter a demon with barely a snap of his ringed fingers. Those hands were powerful and gentle, destructive and soft. Alec covered them with his own. He wanted to kiss each fingertip.

Magnus paused and looked up at him with wide eyes, as if he had not even realized he had spoken out loud until Alec reacted. He was beautiful this way—guard lowered, being only himself—even when ‘himself’ was jealous and grumpy. Alec brushed the back of his knuckles over Magnus’s cheekbone, searching his blushing, willful expression, hoping more than anything that his feelings could translate in the few stuttered words he could summon. “There will never be anyone else,” he stated plainly. “I love you. It’s only you for me.”

For just a second, Magnus looked like he might cry. But the fragile shimmer in his eyes passed just as quickly as it appeared, replaced with need, desire, want. He tugged Alec’s shirt over his head, then set to work on the buttons of his own. Alec pushed the shirt eagerly off of Magnus’s shoulders and left it in a silky pile on the floor.

A craving bubbled up in Alec’s core from somewhere deep and hidden. It grew every time Magnus’s lips met his, building up inside of him, their bodies aligning and melting into each other. He arched his back and pressed his hips forward, grinding into Magnus, the friction pulling pained, needy sounds from their lips. Magnus dropped his hands to cup Alec’s ass as he marched him backwards into the bedroom. Alec could feel his own muscles rippling against Magnus’s palm. There was too much fabric in the way—he wanted skin on skin.

Alec dropped his hands to the fly of his own pants, shoving them off and kicking them out of the way just before his knees hit the back of the bed. Magnus’s hands joined his, shoving his underwear down before giving up and completing the job with magic, leaving Alec completely naked. Dropping down to sit on the bed, Alec yanked his boyfriend’s pants open and pulled his burgundy boxer briefs down with them. It was a delightfully familiar position, conjuring memories of the first time Alec had ever seen Magnus’s nakedness in all its beautiful glory.

He wasted no time after Magnus’s feet were clear of his pants, drawing his tongue over the head of his boyfriend’s cock. Magnus had to steady himself on Alec’s shoulders as a shiver rippled through his body. His lacquered and sharply-filed fingernails dug keen red crescents into the Shadowhunter’s skin, tiny stars scattered between twisting constellations of rune scars.

“Fuck,” Magnus moaned when Alec’s lips slid down the length of dick. “Alexander, what’s gotten into you tonight?” His words were short and breathless.

_ You, hopefully. _ The thought hit Alec before his brain could fully process. It clicked into place beside that fathomless, unnamed need coiling in his stomach, and the conversations he and Magnus had been having over the past few weeks. Magnus was ever patient, answering all of Alec’s timid questions, never pressuring him into anything he wasn’t ready to do. But Alec thought of the possessive blaze in the warlock’s eyes, remembered the way it felt when Magnus had shoved him against the cold metal van, had growled ‘ _ mine’ _ into his ear like some kind of out of control animal, and  _ fuck _ , Alec  _ wanted to be his _ . He wanted Magnus on him, all over him, inside of him. He wanted to feel the ghost of his touch days later, reminding him who he belonged to.

He moaned around his boyfriend’s cock as he took him deeper, watching with satisfaction as Magnus’s eyes fluttered closed. Then he released him with a pop, licking one last, thick stripe up his length for good measure before he replaced his lips with his hand, fingers wrapping around Magnus’s dick as he stared up at him, a dark silhouette in the unlit apartment, the shape of his mouth just barely visible beneath his bright, reflective eyes.

“I… I want something,” Alec admitted. He could feel his cheeks burning despite his sureness, and tried to disguise his nerves by peppering kisses over Magnus’s hip bones, stroking him slowly with his hand. Magnus smirked, combing his fingers tenderly through Alec’s mess of black waves.

“First you’re letting all these other pretty boys flirt with you, now you’re making demands,” Magnus teased. His voice trembled at the end of the sentence when Alec ran his finger over the head of his cock. “What is it,  _ mon ange _ ?” he asked, softly this time. “ _ Pour toi, je ferais n'importe quoi. Je raccrocherais la lune, retracerais les constellations des étoiles. _ ”

Alec wasn’t sure what Magnus said, but something like electricity ricocheted across his heart all the same, sending his stomach into charmed somersaults. He cleared his throat quietly, unsure how to put into words what he wanted without making it vulgar. His pulse raced. His fingers traced aimless circles over the backs of Magnus’s legs. Magnus’s hand slid from his hair to his cheek, thumb trailing across his lips, and Alec kissed it without a second thought, then sucked it into his mouth. He enjoyed the heat of the moment, letting it clear his thoughts, letting it calm him. Magnus loved him, and Alec wanted this—he wanted it badly. They had already spoken about it at length. He was ready—beyond ready.

Magnus tensed, cutting off a moan, still waiting for Alec to speak. Finally, Alec released the warlock’s thumb and took a deep, steadying breath.

“Do you want to fuck me?” he asked quietly.

Magnus’s eyes widened. He froze, watching Alec with breathless uncertainty. “What?” he managed.

Alec bit his lip, unsure if Magnus was unwilling, or simply just surprised. He kissed the sensitive spot just below his abs, drawing out a strangled sigh that relaxed the warlock’s whole body. “I want you to fuck me,” Alec repeated, more decisive this time. His voice came out low and rough, betraying just how often he had imagined this, fantasized about it. “I want to be yours, in every way possible.” He stared unwaveringly up at his boyfriend. “If—I mean, if that’s what you want, too.”

~*~

Magnus wasn’t sure he heard him correctly at first. He stared down at Alec in the dark—his perfect Alexander, beautiful blue eyes watching him so hopefully, as if he genuinely believed he could say no.

There was a time when Alec couldn’t talk about sex at all without stuttering and stumbling over himself. A time when he was so anxious about the things he wanted that Magnus had to pull his desires from him with careful words and gentle coaxing, and even then, the nephilim could never quite  _ say _ it. They had talked about this, though, about Alec’s curiosities regarding the wondrous uncharted territory of penetration. But it had always been in hypotheticals.  _ Eventually _ . When Alec was  _ ready _ .

He looked ready now. Magnus was glad for his cat eyes, for the ability to see every detail of Alec in the dark—that familiar buzz of anxiety that fluttered in every movement Alec made, the nervous flush of his cheeks, the way his eyes darted back and forth between both of Magnus’s. But his gaze didn’t drop, and it wasn’t his own uncertainty that fueled Alec’s nerves. He was focused on Magnus.

“Yes,” Magnus answered, his voice tight and strained from the tension that rapidly crept across his body. “Yes, Alexander. I would like that very much.”

Magnus wanted to consume him. To possess him. He wanted to tie Alec down and fuck him until the Shadowhunter’s throat went raw from screaming his name. He imagined Alec bent over in front of him—the very thought of it made his knees weak, tugging a sharp gasp from his lungs as Alec’s lips pressed against the delicate vein-spidered skin of his inner wrist. Magnus wanted him open, vulnerable, accepting the pleasure he was given. He wanted to be the  _ only _ one to see him that way.

He reached down to cup Alec’s chin, tilting his head up more, making certain that his Shadowhunter saw the need in his eyes. Alec watched him with such heartbreakingly perfect trust, full of excitement and desire.

Magnus was going to  _ ruin _ him, in the best way possible. But in order to do that properly, he had to take things slowly.

“One step at a time,” he said, swallowing his own unbearably overwhelming eagerness. His fingertips shook against Alec’s face. “I’m not—I don’t want to rush things. We’ll start with a smaller step tonight, okay darling? Save the  _ fucking _ for next time.”

Alec nodded, burying his face in the palm of Magnus’s hand. The warlock could tell his love was stifling a mild pout. “I trust you,” he mumbled, so quiet that Magnus could barely hear it, and Magnus knotted his fingers in Alec’s hair as he steadied his breathing. His heart was so  _ full _ , so erratic, sent into a frenzy by this unexpected moment.

“Turn over,” Magnus finally instructed. “I need you on your hands and knees.”

Magnus’s breath caught in his throat as Alec obeyed. He loved how open and ready for new experiences his Shadowhunter was, following instructions so willingly. The sight of Alec lying across the bed in front of him, completely vulnerable both physically and emotionally, left Magnus wanting to protect him, to cherish him, to make every single moment of this experience as perfect as it could possibly be. Alec pushed himself up onto his knees, head hanging down between his shoulders to rest his forehead on the pillows. Scarlet spread across his neck and trailed down his spine, exposing how self-conscious he was of the vulnerable position.

“You’re so beautiful,” Magnus breathed. He had the perfect view this way, and took full advantage of the opportunity to stare, to drink in the sight of his boyfriend.

Since the first time they fell into bed together, Magnus had carefully avoided exploring too close to Alec’s rim, loathe to pressure him into anything he wasn’t comfortable with. Now Alec knelt before Magnus, baring that part of himself with complete and utter trust. Magnus crawled onto the bed on his knees and ran his hand over one of Alec’s ass cheeks, trailing his thumb up tantalizingly close to his crack. Alec’s whole body tensed, his long fingers bunching up in one of the pillows at just that simple touch. Clenching his fist, Alec rested his forehead against his wrist and took deep, steadying breaths.

“Relax,  _ mon ange _ ,” Magnus soothed. He massaged Alec’s ass, running his thumbs across the grooves where soft flesh met the backs of his thighs—where his dark, coarse hair thinned, revealing the pallor of his gorgeous skin. He saw Alec struggling to obey, to center himself. Alec’s glutes tensed and rippled beneath the warlock’s hand. In a reassuring gesture, Magnus kissed the round peak of Alec’s right ass cheek, then the left. His boyfriend’s breath was already hitching, fingers tangling again in the sheets, tensing in anticipation. Magnus knew he was torturing him, drawing it out this long. He couldn’t help it. Alec just looked so  _ wrecked _ , caught up in the suspense.

He spread Alec carefully open, then leaned in and licked one long, smooth stripe from behind his balls to the top of his crease. The sound that passed Alec’s lips was absolutely stunning, monumentally sinful, a low wounded moan—like the pleasure that Magnus gave him was slowly killing him. He circled his tongue around Alec’s puckered hole, drawing out a muffled  _ ‘nnnh’ _ from his boyfriend as Alec buried his face in the pillow. Magnus’s own cock responded eagerly to every muted whimper, leaving him impossibly hard.

Magnus painted shapes with his tongue over Alec’s entrance, changing up his pace and pressure, holding Alec’s hips firmly still as he pleasured him. He couldn’t tell if Alec was trying to flee or sink further toward him—maybe both. The Shadowhunter rocked forward and back in waves, sometimes shying away from the pleasure, sometimes throwing himself into it. One of Alec’s hands shot out to the headboard to steady himself, his knuckles white with how tightly he gripped it. Magnus swore he heard wood splinter. 

“Magnus,” he whined weakly. Magnus flattened his tongue against the rippled skin around his entrance, and Alec’s whole body shuddered. “Magnus,” he repeated, quieter this time. The tension in his legs was melting away, his weight pushing more decisively onto Magnus’s tongue. Magnus took the opportunity to increase his pace, lapping more energetically, dragging his attention down to Alec’s balls, wetting them with his lips and sucking before returning to his hole. Sounds of Alec filled the room, a chorus of unintelligible moans and whimpers mixed with fragments of Magnus’s name. Magnus wanted to file this memory away forever, brand it into his mind in a place it would never fade.

He released Alec from the constant barrage of stimulation, peppering his ass with tiny kisses, playful bites, squeezing his thighs gently to steady him. “Do you want more?” Magnus asked, his voice wavering. Precome dripped from his own aching cock, desperately turned on by his boyfriend’s noises. Alec looked so unsteady, his wrists shaking—Magnus felt a quick check-in was necessary.

“Y—yes,” Alec stuttered. “Please.”

The pleading dropped straight to Magnus’s balls. If he could wreck Alec’s normally meticulous reticence this thoroughly just from rimming, how destroyed would his boyfriend be when he one day had Magnus’s cock buried inside of him? The curiosity made it near impossible to resist. Magnus bit his lip, fighting back a moan. He was tempted to dive back in, to push his tongue past that ring of tight muscle and listen to Alec crumble to pieces. But more than that, he wanted to see his face, to watch him as he fell apart.

“On your back,” Magnus ordered gently. “I want to see you.”

Alec took a few seconds to compose himself before moving. The color returned to his knuckles on the headboard, and he released his grip. Gingerly, as if he didn’t trust his own arms to hold his weight, he turned himself over and sank down into the pillows. His eyes found Magnus’s across the shadows that veiled the narrow space between them. They were gleaming, hazy and heated, searching over the entirety of Magnus’s naked body like he had never seen it before and wanted to memorize it in case he never got to again.

Alec was huffing and panting as if he just finished a marathon. He was flushed from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, where a thin sheen of sweat already shimmered over his skin. Magnus thought that maybe he was about to speak, but Alec remained mute, only watching him with those wide, earnest eyes that twisted Magnus’s heart into all sorts of strange, previously unmapped shapes.

Magnus stretched over to the bedside table and retrieved their very well-used bottle of lube from the drawer. The bottle should have been well past empty by now, subject to such heavy use, but Magnus had spelled it so the silicone never ran dry. Normally it was Alec reaching for it, Alec spreading the clear gel over his fingers. Magnus positioned himself between Alec’s legs, bending them up so Alec’s feet were flat on the mattress, giving him a better angle. He wanted to lick up the precome beading on the tip of Alec’s cock. He resisted, instead placing a soft kiss on top of Alec’s knee. Even that small touch had the Shadowhunter drawing in a sharp breath, floating high on a buzzing current of over-sensitivity.

“Hold on,” Magnus murmured. He grabbed one of the pillows that Alec wasn’t resting his head on, then tapped his boyfriend’s hip. “Up,” he instructed. Alec obediently lifted his hips so Magnus could stuff the pillow beneath him, pushing Alec back down to settle onto it. Alec had done the same thing for Magnus dozens of times before, but Magnus felt it was different now, with their positions reversed—novel and exciting and surprisingly tender. He found himself hesitating, as if this wasn’t something he had done hundreds, thousands of times before throughout his centuries. This time it was different—this time it was  _ Alec _ . Everything had to be just right. 

Maybe Magnus felt that  _ every _ new love was special. Maybe he convinced himself that each new romance and heartbreak was somehow greater than the last. Maybe he would keep raising and raising the stakes until he couldn’t any more, until it broke him. But, Magnus thought, if ever there was a person that could be Magnus’s last, Magnus’s  _ end _ , it was Alec. He wanted to make sure to treat him with the reverence befitting the greatest love of a centuries old immortal.

That was why he had to take things slowly. He needed to savor every moment. He needed to drink it in and sear it into his brain. Alec was more than just another memento in his box of memories.

He climbed up Alec’s body and draped himself over him, catching him in a languid, wet kiss. Alec’s thighs tightened around Magnus’s waist, pressing their cocks together. Their hips bucked, chasing the friction, both of them gasping in air and shuddering. Alec wrapped his hands around the back of Magnus’s neck, holding him close, refusing to let him go.

“Alec,” Magnus moaned into his mouth, more air than words. He kissed his way down Alec’s jaw, his neck, his chest, his abs, Alec’s muscles tensing and rippling as his lips brushed over them. He stopped just short of his cock and sat back on his knees to absorb the sight of him, arms stretched upward toward the headboard, the runes criss-crossing his body pitch black against his pale, shadowed skin.

“Are you ready?” Magnus asked.

Alec nodded, the motion frantic. “Yes,” he said quietly, urgently. “Magnus, yes.” Magnus knew in that moment that he could make Alec beg if he wanted to. He was tempted,  _ so _ tempted. But now was not the time. There would be plenty of opportunities for that later.

Magnus finally squeezed the lube out onto his hand, the way Alec had for him so many times before, and claimed Alec’s mouth again as he circled his entrance. Alec bucked his hips, sinking toward his touch and whimpering, holding his breath, so the room fell eerily silent. Magnus felt intimate with him in a way he never had before—like Alec was giving him something. This was slower than their first time together, months before—more deliberate. Less like a desperate collision of chaotic universes, more like a quiet merging of worlds. Lips parted, breath hitching, Magnus pressed his index finger in.

Alec dropped his forearm over his face, muffling himself with it. His abs tensed, but his weight pushed down toward Magnus’s hand, chasing the intrusion. His eyes squeezed shut, like it was too much—like he couldn’t possibly see and feel and breathe all at once. Magnus was incredibly well-acquainted with the feeling.

What wasn’t so familiar was that he was the one causing this—causing the way Alec’s back arched, his fingers twitching because he couldn’t stay still but didn’t know what to do with himself. Bending forward, Magnus kissed his way up Alec’s abs to his chest, ghosting his lips over Alec’s nipples. He licked and sucked at them, even scraping ever so gently with his teeth, leaving Alec gasping and moaning and partially distracted as Magnus carefully worked him open.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he breathed against Alec’s chest, and Alec clenched around him in response, mumbling something unintelligible, drawing a laugh from deep in Magnus’s chest. “Stop that,” he scolded. “You’re going to make it rougher if you keep clenching.” He ceased all movement, waiting for Alec to relax again.

“I can’t help it,” Alec groaned. But slowly, gradually, he relaxed.

When Magnus had one finger completely buried inside of Alec, he pulled back and silenced his quiet moans with kisses, resting like that—one hand trapped between Alec’s legs and the other elbow supporting Magnus’s weight—until the only sound remaining was their staggered breathing. The air was muggy between them, heavy with breath and sweat.

Magnus started to move again, then, curling his finger forward, carefully reaching, until—

“Oh, fuck, Magnus!” Alec immediately slapped his hand over his mouth, his whole face beet red at the outburst.

Magnus smirked. “Well don’t stop now, a man could get used to that kind of talk.”

“I—I didn’t mean—I mean—”

“Shhhh,” Magnus hushed, and Alec complied, chest rising and falling in short bursts. “There’s no need to be embarrassed by the sounds you make, Alexander,” Magnus purred. “Do I ever get embarrassed by my pleasure when you’re buried inside of me?” He brushed gently against Alec’s prostate again, and Alec bit down on one of his own knuckles to stifle himself. “Answer me, Alexander,” Magnus demanded, keeping his tone smooth and low.

Alec dropped his hands to the sheets, bunching them up in his fists. He squirmed on Magnus’s finger, chasing the sensation when Magnus pulled back, fleeing the stimulation when Magnus pushed forward. “N—no,” he gasped. “You don’t.”

“Do you like it when I cry out for you? When I call your name?” Magnus pressed. He brushed his fingertip over Alec’s prostate again and again, and each time Alec writhed underneath of him.

“Yes,” Alec sobbed. “Magnus, please.” He clung to the pillow below his head, bending it upward and doing his best to bury his face in it as he rolled his hips into Magnus’s unforgiving onslaught.

Alec wasn’t speaking in more than a few syllables at a time, but Magnus understood. He withdrew his hand, leaving Alec whimpering, then pressed his middle finger back in beside the first, stretching Alec out even more, massaging his prostate mercilessly as he did. Alec’s legs tried to close, but Magnus’s body was in the way, holding them open.

“Are you ready to come, Alexander?” Magnus asked gently. “Are you getting close?”

Alec nodded, and Magnus thought he heard something resembling “Mhmm,” but he couldn’t be sure. Beneath Alec’s tightly shut eyelids, he saw the Shadowhunter’s eyes roll back in his head. Magnus wished he would open them so that he could see the bright blue disappear behind Alec’s dark fringe of lashes.

“Do you think you can come from my fingers alone, just like this?”

Alec was in shambles below him, rocking against Magnus’s hand, his cock heavy and leaking precome. “Faster,” was his only answer, and Magnus took that as an affirmative. He established a quick, frantic rhythm, seeking out a balance of scraping across the Shadowhunter’s prostate without jabbing into it too hard. Alec threw his head back on the pillows, moving with him, chasing his pleasure.

It took all Magnus had not to pull his hand out of the way and bury his cock inside of his boyfriend like Alec had originally wanted. He was agonizingly hard, watching Alec’s back bow, his whole body flushed and sweaty and writhing. Magnus picked up the pace again, rubbing against the growing, rigid lump behind Alec’s cock.

“Come for me,” he murmured. He kissed Alec’s cheek, his shoulder. “I’ve got you,  _ mon ange _ . You’re so gorgeous like this. So perfect for me.”

Alec went quiet, the only remaining sound his choppy breathing and the wet slide of lube as Magnus thrust his fingers inside of him. Magnus worried for a second that he had said something wrong, something Alec didn’t like—Alec was usually a bit louder when he got close, a gradual build until he climaxed, biting back his moans.

Then, Alec’s whole body froze up. He made a quiet, strangled sound as he clenched tightly around Magnus’s knuckles. White ropes of come shot across Alec’s abs, dribbling down his cock, his hands shooting up to Magnus’s shoulders and gripping him so tightly that Magnus was sure he would bruise. At least, he hoped so.

Magnus held him through it, fighting the tension around his fingers to massage Alec’s prostate in gentle circles, until Alec was curling in on himself and whimpering.

“Magnus,” Alec moaned, sounding thoroughly fucked and completely exhausted as he finally stopped shaking. “Fuck, Magnus, I could feel that in my ears.”

Magnus dissolved into laughter at that, careful as he withdrew his fingers, though Alec still made a noise of protest at the sensation. Then Alec was laughing too, the sound quiet and tired and perfect. Magnus dropped heavily next to him, curling and uncurling his fatigued hand.

“So, how was that for a first?” Magnus grinned.

Alec smiled softly and turned on his side to nuzzle into Magnus’s chest. Magnus draped an arm over him, and couldn’t help the little voice in the back of his mind that said ‘ _ Mine. _ ’ It fueled a tiny fire in his heart, pushing him to tug Alec closer, to squeeze him tighter.

“So good,” Alec murmured quietly. “I can still feel you inside of me, like a heartbeat in my ass.” He sounded content and awestruck, and most of all sleepy. Giddy laughter rumbled through both of them again.

Magnus glanced at the clock by his bedside—it was almost one in the morning.

“You need to sleep, darling,” he whispered. He moved to wave his hand, to clean them up, but Alec caught him with very surprising swiftness for someone with his eyes only half open.

“No,” he yawned. “You’re hard as a rock, Magnus. You need to come too.”

The straightforwardness of Alec’s half-asleep logic caught Magnus off guard. “That’s okay, Alexander,” he chuckled. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m very happy as I am. Believe me when I say that this was a satisfying experience for both of us.”

It was true—for Magnus, this experience was all about Alec. Teaching him to enjoy these moments shamelessly, showing him that sometimes, it was okay to be a little bit selfish.

“Hmmm,” Alec drawled skeptically, sounding more like a sleepy sigh than any kind of word. He buried his face more firmly into Magnus’s chest, fingertips dancing down across the warlock’s abs and brushing against the head of his still hard cock. Magnus gasped, every nerve tight and over-sensitive after watching Alec writhe in pleasure for so long without touching himself at all. “Your dick says otherwise.” Alec traced one finger down Magnus’s shaft, then back up, circling his slit. Magnus’s hips bucked.

“Alexander,” he gasped. “You’re insatiable.” He felt like his nerves were on fire, woken up rudely, suddenly, after having been asleep. Alec’s touch reminded him of what he felt earlier, pushing Alec into the bedsheets, all of his thoughts occupied with sex and heat. Magnus needed someone— _ Alec _ —to touch him.

Alec slid his hand around to Magnus’s ass, giving it squeeze before hooking behind Magnus’s knee and lifting his leg up over his hip. “It’s so hot when you come,” Alec mumbled, words almost lost where his face was nuzzled into Magnus’s chest. Warm lips pressed against Magnus’s collarbone, his shoulder, his neck. Once Alec had Magnus positioned, his hand returned to the warlock’s cock, jerking him in slow, long strokes. “I want you to think about fucking me,” he murmured into the space between them.

Magnus did as he was told, imagining Alec splayed on the bed in front of him like he had been only minutes before, picturing Alec’s eyes rolling back into his head as Magnus rutted into him. “Alexander,” he whispered. His hips stuttered into Alec’s grasp, seeking more, faster, rougher, and Alec complied. Magnus let out something between a sigh and a moan. Alec was right. He really  _ did _ need to come. He grabbed Alec’s wrist, using a quick pulse of magic to coat his boyfriend’s palm and fingers with lube, which Alec spread over his cock without a second thought.

“When I came, I was thinking about you coming inside me,” Alec mumbled into the dark.

“Fuck, Alec, fuck,” Magnus whined. He thought about that, too—about filling Alec up, watching his come drip out of him. He fucked into Alec’s hand, suddenly glad for the leverage his leg gave him, hitched up around Alec’s hips. He wondered if Alec knew how incredibly hot his words were. But the Shadowhunter barely seemed awake, lips dragging over Magnus’s neck, sucking lazily. He was just being honest.

It was enough to push Magnus over the edge. Alec’s strokes became shorter and softer, milking every last drop of come from Magnus as he shuddered and spilled into his boyfriend’s fist with a drawn out moan. He went completely boneless after that, covering Alec’s hand with his to stop his movements, all of it suddenly too much, too fast, too hard. He hummed into Alec’s hair, still rolling his hips in the aftershocks of it.

Alec murmured something barely audible into his ear that Magnus didn’t understand. The Shadowhunter’s hand was lax now, resting awkwardly curled on Magnus’s waist to avoid smearing their come around.

“May I clean us up now?” Magnus teased as he snuggled closer, his voice soft and satisfied. He couldn’t fight the stupid smile that stretched across his lips, blanketed in warm contentment next to the man he loved, both of them completely fucked out.

“Mhmm,” Alec sighed. Magnus cleaned them up with a wave of his hand, then tugged the sheets up over both of them. “So warm,” Alec mumbled. Magnus felt the Shadowhunter’s lips moving as he spoke, brushing softly across his collarbone.

“Yes,  _ mon ange _ ,” Magnus whispered. “Go to sleep.” Behind Alec, frost gathered around the edges of the window, the last straggling snowflakes dulling the city sounds.

“Magnus?” Alec asked. He garbled the name slightly, and Magnus bit his lip to keep from giggling. He couldn’t stifle the slight shaking of his chest, but Alec, in his sleepy state, did not seem to notice.

“Yes, darling?” he responded softly.

“I want a cute nickname to call you, too,” the Shadowhunter slurred. “But every time I come up with one it feels stupid. I’m sorry I’m bad at it.”

Warmth flooded Magnus’s cheeks. “Have you come up with many?”

“So many,” Alec grumbled. “They’re all terrible. You’re the king of adorable pet names—even making them up in other languages and shit. I realized I can never compare so I gave up.”

Magnus grinned and nuzzled into Alec’s hair, his heart leaping in his chest. This kind of pillow talk was his favorite—Alec, exhausted, just rambling about whatever half-baked thought seemed most important to his jumbled mind at the moment. It was a recent development, which Magnus suspected was a sign of the nephilim’s growing comfort falling asleep beside him. “Alexander, I love you so, so much.”

“I love you too,” Alec answered, and it sounded almost sad. “I love you so much it hurts. Sometimes I wonder if you’re real.”

“I’m real,” Magnus murmured. “I promise.” Alec only shook his head and smiled, and then he was asleep.

Magnus took longer to fall asleep. The odd quiet of the city during snowfall was disconcerting, the unsettling awareness of the absence of something you never knew was there. But then, as if he sensed Magnus’s unease even while asleep, Alec wrapped a protective arm around him. Just like that, Magnus was surrounded by the smell of him, the warmth of him, the  _ safety _ of him—and he finally drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not ready to put the story down yet? [Check out the next chapter at Cloudburst.Ink](https://cloudburst.ink/speak-hush-4/)! I always post a chapter ahead over there! 🖤


	4. Bad Might Be an Understatement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke meets with Alec and Magnus to share some unsettling news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to read this chapter with extra features like pretty formatting and opening/closing songs? [Check it out at Cloudburst.Ink](https://cloudburst.ink/speak-hush-4/)!

“ _ Mon canard _ .” Magnus purred, his voice silky smooth and sensual.

“What does that mean?” asked Alec warily. They were splayed naked across the warlock’s luxurious sheets, warmed by golden rays of late morning sunlight. Magnus rested his head on Alec’s chest, tracing shapes over the ridge of his collarbone.

“It means  _ my duck _ ,” Magnus chirped. “It’s a somewhat common term of endearment in French.” Alec could feel the warlock’s grin against his chest when he laughed.

“I don’t think that’s the one,” Alec mused. “Though I know someone else who might enjoy it.” Alec left his other reservation unsaid—that  _ common _ terms of endearment weren’t exactly what he was going for. Magnus was so wonderful, so gorgeous, so unique. He deserved a pet name that embodied how special he was.

“But you love it when I speak French!” Magnus complained. “You don’t want a cute French nickname for me?”

“I’d rather not,” Alec answered. He struggled to maintain his exaggerated frown.

“Kitten?” Magnus teased.

“Oh hell no!” Alec mimicked a retching sound. “That sounds like a weird sex thing.” He mourned the loss of Magnus’s body against his when the warlock leaned up on his elbows and shot him a devilish look.

“What’s wrong with sex?” Magnus inquired, low and sultry. He traced his fingers over the planes of Alec’s chest, pausing to circle one of his nipples. “You seem to enjoy it well enough.”

Alec arched his back and tangled his legs around Magnus’s. He wondered how long he could drag the morning out, basking in the glow of Magnus’s closeness. His mind hastily digressed to more devious places, his whole body buzzing with excited interest. His hands skimmed across Magnus’s ass while Magnus’s lips explored lower. He had time, right?

A quick glance at the clock determined that he did not, in fact, have time. It was already late. Alec could justify taking the morning off after his recent tireless work hours, but nothing more. He bit his lip and caught Magnus’s wandering hands, fighting down the flood of desire that his boyfriend’s trailing fingertips left in their wake.

He didn’t bother trying to hide his blush. He  _ did _ enjoy sex. He wasn’t ashamed of that, especially not after last night.

“Magnus, be reasonable,” he pleaded, steering his thoughts back toward the topic at hand. “It sounds like a  _ kinky _ sex thing. I’m not calling you that.  _ Especially _ not in front of other people. Ever.”

“I still don’t see the problem,” Magnus pressed. He looked positively devious, his feline gaze trailing over Alec’s bare skin. “I, for one, rather enjoy a bit of kink in my life. And we both know that  _ you _ do—don’t deny it. Your own sister called you out on it, and I happen to know for a fact that Isabelle herself has very adventurous tastes.”

“Ugh, please don’t talk about my sister like that.” Alec grumbled. 

“Not by first hand experience, of course!” Magnus defended. “Although my second hand sources were  _ incredibly  _ reliable. Especially because they couldn’t lie.”

Magnus’s elaboration only exacerbated Alec’s discomfort. Any lingering arousal dissipated the moment Magnus dragged his sister into the conversation. “And why do you have to keep bringing that whole kinky thing up? I did  _ nothing _ to deserve this.” Alec knew he sounded petulant and defensive, but he didn’t really mind—this playful teasing had been going on for awhile, ever since Magnus and Izzy first realized that she had unknowingly accused Alec of being a sexual deviant to his face. He dropped his head back into the pillows and tugged Magnus down on top of him once more, the warlock’s weight resting on his chest. This easy closeness grounded him. It felt right—a lazy morning snuggling with the man he loved, musing on stupid nicknames.

“Because you look so cute when you blush,” Magnus murmured, nuzzling into his neck. “Besides,  _ I _ think of ‘kinky’ as a compliment.” Magnus punctuated his statement with several light kisses to Alec’s pulse point. “Nobody wants to eat only vanilla ice cream for the rest of their life.” Alec only huffed in response and squeezed his boyfriend tighter. His muscles tugged pleasantly every time he moved—a slight, satisfying ache that extended all the way within him. It was subtle enough that he almost wished it would be stronger—he wanted it to linger, to remind him all day that Magnus had been  _ inside _ of him. He wondered how much more he would feel it after Magnus finally actually fucked him. His mind was wandering again, his body reacting to the deadly combination of his imagination and Magnus’s very real, very irresistible body pressed up against his.

“Mags is simple,” Magnus noted, then playfully added, “though a bit lazy if you ask me.”

Alec snorted, rubbing his fingertips in circles over Magnus’s back. He was so  _ relaxed _ . He wanted to lay here forever. “No, not Mags. That sounds weird. Might as well just use your name.” After a moment of contemplative quiet, he added, “... and it kind of sounds like a girl’s name. I’m not trying to crawl back into the closet.”

Magnus giggled at that. They both snuggled in closer, falling into silence.

“You know,” Magnus ventured, “I didn’t mind so much when you called me ‘babe’ that one time.”

Alec blushed bright red then. He’d been caught. “I thought you didn’t notice. I was just… I don’t know. Trying it out.”

“Oh I certainly did, darling—nothing gets past me. I didn’t say anything because I was  _ otherwise occupied _ … and I didn’t want to scare you off of using it again.” Magnus sighed contentedly and rubbed his cheek across Alec’s chest. It reminded Alec of the way Chairman Meow rubbed against him to ask for attention. “You have been known to be more than a little skittish.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be coming up with your own nicknames,” Alec suggested, quickly changing the subject and kissing the top of Magnus’s head. He loved the smell of Magnus’s hair—sandalwood and spices, remnants of aloe hair gel, distant hints of bleach and dye.

Magnus pouted up at him, cat eyes wide and pleading. “But I  _ want _ one. You can’t just mention this to me and not expect my input. I’m not patient enough to wait for you to come up with one yourself. And in my defense, you aren’t a man of many words. I thought maybe you would appreciate the inspiration.”

Alec bent up to capture the pout against his own lips. When he pulled away, Magnus followed, chasing the kiss. Alec surrendered himself to the moment, nibbling at Magnus’s bottom lip. He wanted this tranquil lull to last forever. Magnus pushed himself up to his knees and straddled him, centering his weight between his knees on the mattress and his hands splayed across Alec’s chest. Alec hummed into the kiss, his whole body coming alive. Maybe the Institute could survive just a  _ little _ bit longer without him.

The shrill metallic peal of Alec’s ringtone cut through their brief bubble of peace, its unwelcome vibrations rattling against the lacquered ebony nightstand. Both of them groaned. Alec dropped his hands sullenly to the bed with a muffled  _ thump _ .

“I hate Shadowhunters sometimes,” Alec grumbled.

“Now you understand me,” Magnus grinned. Alec rolled his eyes. “Ugh, answer it,” Magnus whined. “Your ringtone is obnoxious.”

“That’s the point, Magnus. And I can’t reach it with you on top of me.”

Magnus stretched over to the night stand and swiped up Alec’s phone, then shoved it into his hands. “There. Tell them you’re busy, darling. The High Warlock still needs you for something of the  _ utmost _ importance.” He rolled his hips slightly to emphasize his point.

Alec smirked as he tapped the screen to accept the call, too busy staring at Magnus’s naked body—and very hard cock—on top of him to check the caller ID. He thrust upward slightly for good measure, rubbing his dick teasingly against Magnus’s ass.

“This is Alexander Lightwood,” Alec greeted deliberately grumpily, holding the phone to his ear.

“Alec. I need to talk to you.” The deep, authoritative voice at the other end was completely unexpected, and immediately recognizable.

“Luke?” Alec’s expression dropped instantly from bemused to concerned. He sat up just as Magnus pulled back worriedly, both of them immediately brought to attention. “What’s wrong?”

“Not over the phone—can we meet in your office?”

“Yeah, of course.” Alec did not miss the stress and urgency in his tone.

“Is Magnus with you?” Luke asked. The question caught Alec off guard, somewhat offending him at first. Did everyone just expect them to be joined at the hip now? His eyes flicked uncertainly to his boyfriend.

In all fairness, it wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate at the moment.

“Uh… yeah he’s right here,” Alec admitted. Magnus raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Good. Bring him too. I’m on my way.”

“Um. Okay. Sure. We’ll be there soon.” Alec hung up, staring blankly at his screen for a moment before looking back up at the warlock now perched by the end of the bed. “Luke needs to talk. He wants you there too. He won’t say why over the phone.”

“Hmm,” Magnus mused. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “This doesn’t bode well.” Without any further questions on the matter, Magnus strode across the room toward his closet.

Alec could only agree, searching around for his own clothes on the floor. “We better get over there.”

~*~

Luke was waiting in Alec’s office when they arrived, seated in one of the chairs by the desk. He was hunched forward, one knee bouncing anxiously, his hands folded in front of him. Alec had never seen Luke like this—the pack leader was always the perfect image of calm and collected. As they stepped through the portal, Magnus squeezed Alec’s hand—clearly catching on to the same worrisome signs that Alec was—before they both released their grasp. They were at work now. Their duties had to come first.

“Luke,” Magnus questioned carefully, “what’s going on?”

The alpha stood up when he saw them, his shoulders tense. The bright midday light scattering across his skin, saturated with stained glass hues, did little to assuage the growing sense of foreboding in Alec’s chest at the werewolf’s tightly controlled expression. “Magnus,” he greeted tersely. “Alec.” He nodded to each of them, the movement clipped. “You should both probably sit.”

Alec’s heart sank as he circled around his desk and his eyes returned to Luke’s stoic expression, leaving Magnus to take the remaining chair beside the alpha. The tension in the air hung heavy—a stark difference from the altogether more pleasant tension from only the night before, when Magnus had occupied that exact same chair in a far less professional pose.

When all of them were seated and anxiously waiting for an explanation, Luke tapped on a washed out blue folder atop Alec’s desk. He held his hand over it protectively, as if he wasn’t quite ready to release the contents. “Do you know Gretel?” he asked quietly.

Alec gripped his armrest, swallowing back the dread that tightened his throat. “Yes,” he answered softly.  _ She’s kicked Jace’s ass a few times _ , he added silently.  _ No doubt he deserved it. She’s a fierce warrior. _ By Luke’s tone, Alec already had an idea of where this conversation was going, and he didn’t like it one bit. Lighthearted compliments hardly seemed appropriate. He kept the comments to himself, a looming sense of foreboding nagging at his thoughts, darkly whispering that maybe his mental use of the present tense was no longer appropriate.

“Loveliest wolf I’ve ever seen,” Magnus noted. His voice carried a cautious, somber hesitance.

Luke sucked in his lips, and his free hand clenched to a fist on the desk. With his other hand, he spun the folder around and shoved it in Alec’s direction. “She’s dead,” he growled. His eyes flashed green, threatening and bright.

Alec could feel his jaw clenching. There was more to this than just a death, as troublesome as that news was alone. Luke would not have come to the Institute if one of his pack members had died from just any cause, and he requested that Magnus come along for a reason. Alec placed his fingertips gently on the edge of the folder and waited, his heart racing. Luke’s hand remained splayed across it.

For just a second, the werewolf shot a sharp, dangerous glance in Magnus’s direction. He was restrained, deadly—a cornered animal waiting for an excuse to pounce. That this rage might be directed toward Magnus had Alec’s defensive hackles rising. His first instinct was to leap to his feet and demand to know what was going on.

Instead, Alec took a deep, slow, steadying breath. He needed to figure out what was happening. He observed Luke carefully as the werewolf sized Magnus up, like he was trying to discern whether or not the High Warlock could truly be trusted.

Something was very wrong.

“Luke,” Alec said quietly. “Lucian, look at me.”

Luke’s attention shot back to Alec. He swallowed back his tension and mirrored Alec’s steady breathing. Then his shoulders sagged, all of the fight and fury giving way to resignation. “She was murdered,” he said. “Gretel, of all people. Alec, Magnus,” he cast Magnus an apologetic look when he said his name, clearly guilty about his moment of doubt, “this is bad.” He released the folder and pushed it more purposefully toward Alec.

Bad seemed like it might be an understatement. Alec slid the folder closer and flipped it open carefully, his eyes skimming over the first handful of included photos—a spray of crimson on white, blood seeping through snow—before he focused back on the written reports. Luke’s training as a detective shone through plainly in his documentation. A stack of neatly printed papers described the scene, body, and surrounding evidence. Beneath them sat another small collection of photographs that accompanied each description, including pictures of the body. Gretel’s body.

Bad was the understatement of the century.

“This is why you requested Magnus,” Alec said quietly.

“Yes,” came Luke’s terse response.

Magnus sat up straighter in his chair, eyes widening with concern and a hint of panic. It broke Alec’s heart to see him that way, so unsure. Alec closed the folder and pushed it toward the warlock to see for himself.

Alec was no stranger to death—he had seen it often enough. All the same, it never failed to disturb him. Gretel looked too pale in the photos, too stiff, like a wax doll strewn across the pavement, just a bit too uncanny and lifeless to really be her. Her shirt was torn at the center, black and bloodied, her arms riddled with deep, ugly defensive wounds that split fabric and skin at all angles. A more detailed close up of the wounds, obscuring fabric removed, showed blackened marks curling out from every cut, stretching over her skin like streams of shimmering oil. They almost looked like runes spilling from the openings, inked over each other so thickly near the wounds that they formed a web of tangled, unintelligible script, thinning and dispersing as they clawed their way outwards. It was no language that Alec had ever seen, but it was definitely magical.

Magnus’s lips parted as he stared down at the photos. “This is demonic magic,” he murmured. “Likely the work of a warlock. A powerful one.” His words only confirmed what they all already knew. They met Alec’s ears with disturbing familiarity.

The gravity of the situation settled around them, the weighty enormousness of it pinning their eyes downward to their hands and feet. “This could start a war,” Alec said finally. “Luke, your wolves will want justice. Warlocks don’t operate in groups like the rest of us… will it matter to them?”

Luke shook his head, his full attention now on Magnus, a painful mix of regret and protective anger. “I want to say I can control them. But while warlocks may not operate closely, they do often have connections. They tend to know each other. My pack—if this gets out, they’re going to be out for blood.”

Magnus cursed under his breath in a language that Alec didn’t know. Then his expression hardened. He set the folder back on the table and steepled his fingers together. “Who knows about this?”

The softness in his voice vanished, replaced by a stern, detached severity. This was Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn. His change in attitude shifted the entire energy of the room. It remained grave, but the bleakness was replaced with determination, the underlying ripple of panic with steeliness. They needed to handle this—quickly.

“Right now?” Luke answered. “Just Maia and I. She found the body. The others know that Gretel is dead, but no one else has seen the marks. They all just assume it was a demon attack.” Like Magnus, he shifted seamlessly into business mode, pushing aside his feelings as Gretel’s friend and mentor in order to take responsibility as her pack leader.

“Good,” Magnus answered. “We need to keep this under wraps for as long as possible. The last thing we need is wolves and warlocks killing each other left and right. Can I access the body?”

Luke hesitated there.

“Luke,” Magnus added, more gently this time. “I need to investigate myself. There could be residual magic left over from the attack, or some sort of signature that might lead us straight to the culprit. You know I wouldn’t ask unless it was absolutely necessary.”

The werewolf nodded slowly. “I’ll see what I can do. No guarantees. The pack is almost ready to bury her, and I won’t deny them that.”

“Thank you,” Magnus said softly.

“Izzy and her lab are at your disposal,” Alec added. “If there is any evidence, samples, anything you want her to look into, you can count on haste and discretion.” The sudden power in the room overwhelmed him—here were two leaders who had years of experience under their belts. Magnus had been High Warlock for decades, and though Luke had only recently become alpha to the New York pack, he carried with him an air of authority that hinted at his years as an important and necessary figure within his pack, and before that, within Valentine’s Circle. They were both powerful, assertive, and knowledgeable. Alec felt completely eclipsed by them. He was at a loss, wondering what else he could possibly contribute. “And, obviously, our support in taking the culprit in, should it be necessary.”

Both Magnus and Luke paused at the last statement, sharing a meaningful glance. Alec gathered that he had misstepped. He folded his hands on the desk, waiting for one of them to explain, but neither did. After a moment of uncomfortable quiet, Alec chose to fill the silence himself rather than allow it to drag out. “Okay. Clearly I said something wrong there. Would one of you please elaborate?”

Magnus bowed his head in deference to Luke, which Alec appreciated. Balancing their roles was difficult already—if this case was going to involve the cooperation of multiple Downworld factions, it would only get more challenging.

Luke cleared his throat. “Uh, the pack would appreciate handling the sentencing ourselves, once this is all dealt with.” His eyes darted between Magnus and Alec. “And, if not us, we’d rather see the Spiral Labyrinth handle the killer than see them sent to the Clave. At least for sentencing.”

Right. Of course. Jurisdiction over the perpetrator was always a touchy subject with inter-species cases. Everyone wanted the right to decide and carry out the sentence. This usually resulted in the Clave stepping in and incarcerating or executing the culprits themselves. Often enough, they did so without even checking with the Downworld leaders first.

Alec considered his words carefully before turning to Magnus. “Would the High Warlock of Brooklyn agree to handing the perpetrator over to the wolves, assuming they  _ are _ a warlock?” he asked pointedly.

Hesitantly, Magnus nodded. “If we can prove beyond a reasonable doubt who they are, then they have no protection from me. Magic like this would have required a lot of planning. It was clearly premeditated.” Magnus turned back to Luke. “I’d want to know the details first. But it was one of yours that died, so the sentencing should go to you.”

Warlock and werewolf both focused back on Alec, their expressions guarded. He realized, then, just how much trust it took for Luke to come to him in the first place. While Clave resources would help his investigation, he risked having the whole thing taken out of his hands, and risked an increased Shadowhunter presence around his pack if Alec chose not to trust him in return. And Magnus—Alec hated seeing that look on Magnus’s face the most. It reminded him how completely separate their worlds still were. It reminded him that, when push came to shove, their loyalties remained at least partially divided. As much as Alec despised the current landscape of the Clave, he would rather change it from within than abandon it altogether, and that would inevitably lead to days like this when they had to prioritize their duties over their relationship.

But if Alec was going to change the way the Clave worked, he had to start somewhere. Now was as good a time as any.

“Alright then.” he said decisively. “As far as the Clave is concerned, this is a matter between werewolves and warlocks. Since you seem to have things handled amongst yourselves, I see no reason for Clave interference. Luke, we’ll stand by to provide investigative support and nothing more. In the meantime, I’ll look through our systems for any other cases matching this description. It’s possible that this killer has struck before, maybe even decades ago, and the Clave keeps comprehensive records dating back hundreds of years. Is there anything else you need from me?”

Luke blinked at him. He waited a beat, as if he expected Alec to say more, to fight to take charge. When Alec made no further comment, Luke nodded. “No. That’s… that’s all for now. Thanks.”

“For what?” Alec asked stiffly. “We haven’t done anything yet. Thank me if my Shadowhunters end up actually being useful.”

Magnus snorted at the narrowly disguised sass, and the sound of it completely broke the severity of the conversation. They all sat back in their chairs, silence hanging between them, as if they hardly knew where to begin.

Maybe they were all out of their depth, Alec thought. Just three overwhelmed men trying their best to do right by the people that relied on them. The moment dragged on—the kind of expectant, quiet stillness that preceded every significant outbreak of chaos.

“We’re going to find the killer,” Magnus said finally. “I mean it, Luke. I won’t stand for this. We’re all on the same side here.”

A muted, distant energy hummed beneath Alec’s skin—some unfounded knowledge that this moment was important. That it meant something.

“I know,” Luke said. He looked between them, brown eyes flashing a dangerous emerald. “The three of us, at least.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not ready to put the story down yet? [Check out the next chapter at Cloudburst.Ink](https://cloudburst.ink/speak-hush-5/)! I always post a chapter ahead over there! 🖤


	5. Angelic Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clary and Jace seek Magnus’s guidance when a new complication presents itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to read this chapter with extra features like pretty formatting and opening/closing songs? [Check it out at Cloudburst.Ink](https://cloudburst.ink/speak-hush-5/)!

Two days slid by, like grains of sand slipping between Magnus’s fingers. Any leads on Gretel’s murder dried up along with the lingering puddles of slush from the recent storm, shrinking back from an unexpected onset of unseasonably warm days. Magnus missed the cold—it always helped to wake him up after long hours buried in potions and spellbooks, drawing him out from the blurry haze of passing time that immortals like him could slip into so easily. Outside Magnus’s balcony, towering windows shone in golden, saturated tones across the East River—the kind seen so often on postcard pictures but so rarely in person. It looked peaceful—as much New York could be, anyway.

Magnus’s last two days had  _ not _ been peaceful. He had been following up with every contact he could think of, scouring his spellbooks for magic resembling what he saw in those photographs. Magnus was the High Warlock of Brooklyn, and his people were  _ his _ responsibility. He couldn’t stomach the idea of yet another warlock shattering the fragile truce that held together the local Downworld. He needed to  _ fix _ it.

Yet here he was, leaning against his window and glaring outside at the irritatingly lovely weather, biding his time until Alec came home from the Institute— _ not _ home, Magnus had to remind himself, just  _ back _ —because at least then they could bounce ideas off each other and pretend they were making any sort of progress.

Warlocks were not like werewolves or the factions of fair folk that lived under courts, where loyalty to one’s leaders was compulsory. Nor were they like nephilim or vampires, where the bonds of blood formed tightly-knit hierarchies. Warlocks were a species all their own, without families or loyalties or, much of the time, any substantial attachments at all. It made keeping track of them challenging at best, futile at worst. Magnus had no doubt that the comings and goings of the vast majority of the city’s demon-blooded residents occurred without his knowledge, which he was usually content with—that was just how warlocks operated. All the same, in times like these, he felt useless and uneasy.

Alec was at the Institute, poring over the Clave’s meticulously kept records, and Magnus was here at home wondering if he had any real option other than to wait and see if another innocent person dropped dead, hoping the assailant left a bit more evidence behind than last time. Energy crackled restlessly at Magnus’s fingertips, leaping between his skin and the glass. He pushed off from the window and was just about to return to his workroom, perhaps cook up some alternate recipe of the last divination brew he tried, when a sudden frantic pounding at his door had him backtracking to the entranceway. His wards sensed nephilim blood, and it wasn’t Alec’s. These days, his blue-eyed Shadowhunter hardly registered in his wards at all.

Instead, Jace Wayland’s—Morgenstern’s?—mismatched eyes peered back at Magnus when he ventured a cautious look through the peephole.

“Magnus!” Jace called through the door, “It’s Jace!” Behind him, Clary’s cascade of red, lazy corkscrew curls peeked just barely over his shoulder.

Alec was nowhere to be seen, which, besides being altogether disappointing, immediately put Magnus on edge. As far as Magnus was aware, the only Shadowhunter aside from Alec who knew of Gretel’s murder was Isabelle, who had processed some of the evidence herself. Magnus had no other current business with the New York Institute. If Clary and Jace were seeking his help with something, it was of their own volition.

He yanked the door open, narrowed eyes darting between them. “Oh look,” he greeted airily, “my favorite two Morgensterns. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jace stepped straight past him and into the loft, not even waiting for an invite. His cocky demeanor, as if he had every right to walk in like he owned the place, already had Magnus subtly bristling beneath his indifferent exterior. He was lucky Magnus allowed him through the wards. If he was feeling less kind-spirited—and if Jace wasn’t Alec’s  _ parabatai _ —he might have been tempted to keep the wards at full strength, singeing anyone who stepped through without direct invitation. But in his old age—and with love’s mellowing influence—Magnus was growing soft.

“We need your help,” Jace stated, as if perhaps there was a chance Magnus had mistaken his presence for a social call.

“By all means,” Magnus said dryly, “do come in.” He stepped aside for Clary, who at least had the decency to blush and quietly apologize for her brother’s gall. Magnus always did like her more than most other nephilim—she managed to worm her way into some mostly hidden, tender spot in his heart as he watched her grow up. He couldn’t help it; he was a sap. In many ways, she occupied the emotional real estate of the children he knew he would never get the chance to have.

Magnus and Clary followed Jace into the living room, where Magnus shifted his attention pointedly toward the redhead and ignored her much more entitled brother. Clary stared at the floor and swallowed some hidden tension that clung to her throat and shoulders. She had shadows under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept since Magnus had last seen her at the wine shop days before, her gaze flickering hesitantly toward Jace when they all congregated in the living room. “What can I do for you, Biscuit?” Magnus asked gently. “You seem distressed.”

None of them made any move to sit. It seemed like neither of the Shadowhunters could relax if they tried. Encouraged by whatever nonverbal response Jace offered at her uncertain glance, Clary rubbed her hands together nervously. “Something’s going on with me,” she admitted. “Jace thought that maybe you could help, or at least might have some idea of where to start looking for answers.” She shoved her hands in her pockets then, offering a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. If you’re busy…” She trailed off.

Magnus tilted his head, examining her defeated posture, the quiet way in which she shrank from his scrutiny. “What’s been going on?” he pressed gingerly. “I can’t provide answers if I don’t know the question.” He kept his distance, worried that any gestures of physical comfort might send her running away in what was obviously a fragile moment.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” Clary explained. “Like the ones the portal shard gave me—even though I left the shard in that other dimension.” She stared down at her hands once more, pushing at one of her cuticles. Her false nonchalance hid some deeper insecurity, masking vulnerable desperation from all but the keenest eyes. Magnus had a keen eye. And to Magnus’s surprise, Jace seemed to have one too for once, hovering by his sister, clouded in thinly-veiled distress.

Magnus tapped his index finger against his lips. They both looked strangely… guilty? He did not have much experience with common Shadowhunter woes, but he could take a guess at their mental states based on the little he  _ did _ know. When was the last time either of them had relaxed? Had taken a few days, even a few hours to themselves?

He spoke his next words softly, and hoped to avoid coming across as patronizing. “Sometimes, a nightmare is just a nightmare. You’ve both been through a lot of trauma. The mind and heart take time to heal from these sorts of things.” Clary nodded and bit her lip. His reaction struck a chord, the dam across her eyes threatening to collapse. “These past few months would give anyone nightmares,” Magnus added. “It’s okay to be affected. You’ve lost a lot. Are you sure this is magical at all?”

Jace’s eyes flared, insulted the way any nephilim would be by the suggestion that there might be something mundane at play. “We’re sure,” he insisted, and turned to his sister. “Clary. Tell him. Please. We have to tell  _ someone _ .”

That strange sense of guilt resurfaced, an understanding that more lurked behind the situation than the Morgensterns initially admitted. When, Magnus wondered, had he become someone that nephilim came to with their secrets? He tried to remember the first secret any Shadowhunter had shared with him. Perhaps it was in London, belonging to a blue-eyed, black-haired Shadowhunter now long passed from the Earth. Perhaps even before then.

Clary released her breath in a heavy rush. Her hands hugged her arms, eyes watery and focused up on the ceiling, as if gravity might hold in her tears. “I’ve been hearing a voice,” she choked out. “Not just during the night. During the day, too. I can’t make it stop.”

Oh. Now  _ this _ was interesting.

“Biscuit.” Magnus drew Clary to the sofa and sat her down, taking her hands in his when he sank down beside her. Behind him, Jace audibly sighed in relief.

Magnus hoped dearly that he wasn’t stringing them along. It was still very possible that this was something mundane—Shadowhunters had a habit of shoving their mental health issues under the rug until they snapped, and if anyone had a family history to be worried about, it was the Morgensterns. Clary was a bit young for the onset of certain ailments, but she had been through a lot of trauma in the past months that could surely trigger some hidden, ticking time bomb in her genes.  _ Still… _

“Definitely a voice?” Magnus asked. “A singular one? Or something more like foreign feelings, or urges? Is it saying anything specific?”

“I don’t know what it’s saying,” Clary murmured. “It’s not speaking English. It’s saying something, I just don’t know what. It sounds melodic, and… immense.” She finally held Magnus’s gaze, a flicker of hope sparking in her green irises that Magnus prayed he would not have to snuff out. Her tears did not spill, held within her eyes by miraculous levels of willpower. Magnus sent a small pulse of magic from his fingertips into Clary’s—just something gentle, exploratory—a brief sweep for looming demonic signatures. He felt nothing.

“You’re not hearing it now, are you?”

“No,” Clary confirmed.

“Why don’t we start by trying to narrow down the language? Did you recognize any specific words? Any syllables, or commonly occurring letters?” It was difficult to know where to start, but a language would give Magnus some direction. If all else failed, he could try to pull a memory of the voice from her head and listen to it directly, but he figured the poor girl had probably had enough of people rooting around in her brain to last a lifetime—and a fair share of it had been done by Magnus himself.

They reviewed a few different demonic languages while Magnus flipped through texts in the workroom—Chthonian, Purgatic, Gehennic. None of them clicked. Magnus added another book to his stack of reference material and frowned at the ancient, scrawled words. There had to be a better way. Perhaps some sort of tracing spell? The Silent Brothers had certain skill sets that Magnus was loathe to attempt himself. Perhaps Brother Zachariah might have the correct resources? But that would require revealing this troublesome situation to the Clave, which the Morgenstern siblings clearly wished to avoid if they were enlisting  _ his _ help.

“Is something wrong with me?” Clary asked quietly, after the room fell silent. “Could it just be… me?” Magnus stared across his desk at her—red waves spilling over one shoulder, knotted anxiously around her fingers. He heard the question she really wanted to ask. It was one he had asked himself thousands of times before, over hundreds of years.  _ Am I my father’s child? _

Magnus shook his head stubbornly. He refused to allow anyone else to fall into that particular downward spiral. “No, Biscuit. I don’t think so.”

He hoped he was right.

Across the room, Jace caught his eye. There were hidden statements there, too. Fear. Self-loathing. He blamed himself. He reminded Magnus so much of Alec, only a few weeks before—desperate to maintain a precarious balance in a world that held no place for him. Son of Valentine. Demon-blooded Shadowhunter.

“Clary,” Magnus instructed. “Read through this for me, please. Let me know if any of it rings a bell. I’ll be right back.” He handed her a transcribed text on curses of the mind, then stepped from the room. As Magnus suspected he would, Jace followed. He turned on the Shadowhunter the moment the door clicked shut behind them, crossing his arms over his chest sternly. “You know something,” Magnus accused. “I don’t take well to people begging for my charitable assistance and then lying to me. Especially not Shadowhunters. And  _ especially _ not Morgensterns.”

Jace combed his fingers through the long strands of hair that flopped into his face in an avian swoop from the top of his head. His jaw worked despite his silence, narrating some silent, internal debate. Thankfully, he came to his conclusion before Magnus had to threaten to kick him out.

“Clary has angel blood,” Jace mused. At Magnus’s skeptical arched eyebrow, he rolled his eyes. “ _ More _ angel blood than most of us, Magnus. I’m sure you remember.”

“I do,” Magnus answered coolly. Nephilim always had a complex about bloodlines. If they could somehow measure the potency of the measly drops that separated them from mundanes and use it to segregate themselves by perceived purity, Magnus was sure they would. Shadowhunters loved nothing more than an opportunity to lord their superiority over everyone else, even each other.

“Well, what if she’s sensitive to things, you know?  _ Demonic _ things.”

The arch in Magnus’s eyebrow grew deeper, the scattered dots in his mind haltingly connecting with thin, fragile threads. Clary’s shy reluctance to speak. The guilt oozing off of them, not quite smothered in the shadows of their familial concern. Jace’s own supposed demonic blood.

Magnus was sure that Jace had not intended for him to make the connections he did. He was tempted to call him out. It would be so easy. He could dangle Jace’s vulnerability in front of him, call it karma for all of the blonde Shadowhunter’s obnoxious intrusions into Magnus’s life, all of the small moments in which Magnus noticed that Alec’s  _ parabatai _ bond seemed all give and no take.  _ How does it feel _ , he could ask,  _ to be the one having to hide yourself away for once? _

But that would be cruel, and Magnus was not cruel. Jace was important to Alec, so Jace was important to Magnus. The warlock packed away this delicate information, focusing instead on the possibility that Jace’s theory could be correct.

“Only one way to find out,” he sighed. “Come with me, leather-clad Ken doll.”

Clary looked up tiredly from her book when they returned. “I barely understand any of this,” she said. “But I haven’t found anything.”

“Biscuit,” Magnus began carefully. “I have a very important question to ask you, and I need you to be honest.” Behind him, Jace stared at the floor, jaw clenched. He looked like he was ready to either run off or draw his seraph blade. Clary’s eyes darted between them, anxiety tightening her posture. She nodded, and Magnus pressed forward before he could change his mind. “What were you doing the first time you heard the voice?”

The book in her hands snapped shut. “Jace,” Clary accused. “Really?”

“I didn’t  _ say _ anything!” Jace snapped.

“He’s telling the truth,” Magnus concurred. “You two are just painfully obvious. Now, did this or did it not happen when you two started with… whatever it is that’s going on between you?” He gestured vaguely back and forth.

“We only kissed,” Clary defended hotly. “It was  _ one _ mistake!” Jace flinched at her outburst, so subtly that Magnus wasn’t sure if Clary even caught the movement. Magnus waited patiently, arms crossed, until her humiliated flush slightly faded. “Yes,” she mumbled.

Jace’s gaze remained glued to the floor. “I’m sorry, Clary,” he faltered. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“It’s not,” Clary answered, almost robotically, her frustration tiredly fading. Magnus could feel the yearning and self-loathing crackling between them. Clary’s eyes finally spilled over. She hugged herself. “I kissed you back. The angels are punishing both of us.”

Magnus stifled a snort at her last comment. The nephilim’s angelic overlords had remained silent for years; if anyone was punishing Jace and Clary, it was themselves.

“Alright,” Magnus cut in, far too cheery for the moment the two Shadowhunters were sharing. “Enough of this.” He grabbed Clary’s hand—tugging her forward—then Jace’s, and before either of them thought to recoil, he slapped their palms together.

The room hung silent, awkward tension reaching an almost unbearable boiling point. Jace glared at him. Nothing happened.

“Magnus?” Clary asked hesitantly. “Was that supposed to do something?”

Magnus shrugged. “It was worth a shot. Wouldn’t it have been really cool if it had?”

Jace scowled, ripping his hand from Magnus and Clary’s grasp. “This is stupid. I don’t know why I even—”

Clary gasped. “Guys!” The outburst drew both men’s gazes sharply toward her. She stared straight ahead, eyes glassy as she focused on some silent whisper beyond their perception. 

Magnus grinned. “That’s more like it! What are you hearing, Biscuit?”

Clary’s brows furrowed, her whole expression scrunching up in concentration. “I don’t know,” she frowned. “I still can’t understand it.”

“Perhaps I could try,” Magnus theorized. He held his fingertips up hesitantly to her temples, quivering with the excited energy of a new discovery. “May I attempt to listen in?” Clary nodded. Her face was full of trust, completely sure in her belief that Magnus would help her, had gotten them this far. It warmed Magnus’s heart and terrified him at the same time. “Okay,” he drew in a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”

Peering into the minds of others was never an easy task, and it wasn’t something Magnus specialized in. But he prided himself in being able to do at least a little bit of everything, and this skillset was no exception. Clary’s mind was especially familiar to him after years of digging around in her memories. The familiar sinking feeling rippled over him, that odd sensation of his stomach dropping out from beneath him as he submerged himself in the consciousness of someone else. His fingertips went cold against her skin. Then, he heard it.

It was mournful. Keening, longing—weeping. Magnus had never heard anything else like it in his life. His soul  _ ached _ . He drew the sound closer, diving deeper into Clary’s consciousness, trying to chase the unintelligible words at their source—

A splitting pain crackled through Magnus’s core. Searing, burning,  _ fire _ ! His knees hit the floor before he was even aware he had moved. There was a new sound now—groaning, whimpering—and it took Magnus a few seconds to realize it was him.

“Magnus!” Jace’s voice came out panicked and cracked, his face filling Magnus’s field of vision. Magnus lay flat across the hardwood, staring up toward the ceiling. The hanging lights above them silhouetted Jace’s head in an incandescent halo. Behind Jace, Clary stood wide-eyed, staring off into some place no one else could see, oblivious to the debacle. “Magnus, buddy—are you okay?”

Magnus sputtered for a second before gaining his bearings. “Yeah, I—I think so.” He accepted Jace’s offered hand to sit up, but did not attempt to stand.

Across the apartment, the sound of the door opening jolted Magnus out of his daze. “Magnus?” came Alec’s voice. The soft  _ thump _ of heavy paper hitting wood carried from the living room. “I think I found a lead! Do you want—” Alec cut off as he entered the workroom. “What the hell is going on here?” He was on his knees next to Magnus in an instant.

“I’m fine darling,” Magnus waved him off weakly. Aftershocks of the pain still echoed across his body, but it was fading.

“Jace,” Alec hissed at his  _ parabatai _ , “what did you do?” His eyes never left Magnus, carefully checking him over for injury. Magnus couldn’t help but blush. He was still entirely unaccustomed to the fierce protectiveness of his guardian angel.

“I’m fine, Angel,” Magnus assured him. “This particular mistake was my idea. I was messing with powers I shouldn’t have been.”

“Why are you two even here?” Alec asked accusingly, finally wrenching his eyes away from Magnus to glare at Jace. He sat down next to Magnus, and Magnus let his weight rest against his boyfriend’s body. He felt warm and fuzzy, sinking safely into Alec’s arms. He was  _ exhausted _ . He’d never felt a rush like that before—it was strangely exhilarating, and utterly terrifying.

Clary answered the question before any of the men could, suddenly blinking back to attention. “Guys, I  _ saw _ something!” she squealed. “I know what they’re trying to show me! Magnus, do you have any charcoals or anything?”

“Bottom drawer,” Magnus motioned. He pulled himself up straighter, still ginger and cautious.

_ They? _ Alec mouthed silently, eyeing Jace and Magnus.

While Clary sketched away, Magnus filled Alec in on Clary’s voices—which apparently, with Magnus’s help, had now culminated in a vision. Alec listened skeptically. 

“So where do you think they’re coming from?” he asked, once the whole story had been spilled. “Demons?” Jace flinched.

“No,” Magnus said gravely. “This was something much more powerful. There are very few magics out there that can hurt me the way that did.”

Alec’s hand over Magnus’s tightened, his expression alarmed. “Do you know what it was?” he asked softly, as if he did not want to hear the answer.

Magnus stared past both of them to Clary, her charcoal-smudged hands drifting over the paper on his desk, staring so intently at her work that she almost seemed to be in a trance. “That,” he said quietly, “was most certainly the power of angels.”

They all regarded her with apprehension. Jace’s expression bordered on awe. “The angels are speaking to her?” he asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

Even Magnus only half-believed his own words. But the power was there, plain as day to him. His half-demonic presence was not welcome in Clary’s mind at the same time as the colossal angelic magic that occupied it currently.

“I think so,” Magnus answered somberly.

The room grew silent after that, broken only by the chalky scratch against the paper, and Clary’s thoughtful hums and murmurs. Eventually, she stood up very straight, a pleased utterance half-formed on her lips. “Got it!” she proclaimed. “This is it! This is the house I saw!”

Magnus examined the drawing curiously. It reminded him a bit of Ragnor’s old estate outside of Alicante, stately and regal, in a style common to the Idris countryside. This place was bigger; it looked like it had enough rooms to house an entire extended family comfortably, surrounded by sprawling fields that melted into a distant woodland. Why would the angels—if this really was them—be sending Clary to an old mansion?

“Clary,” Jace faltered. “Are you sure?” He stood frozen, shock and recognition plain on his features.

Clary nodded firmly. “Yes. There’s something here. Something we need to find. I’m sure of it.” She examined her handiwork thoughtfully. “I wish there was some way we could search for it by appearance—can any of the Institute’s systems do that?” She muttered her thoughts aloud.

“What is it Jace?” asked Alec warily, noticing the same expression of familiarity that Magnus had.

Jace looked between them, his shock melting into reluctance, tinged with fear. “We don’t need to look for it,” he said. “That’s the Wayland Manor. My childhood home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not ready to put the story down yet? [Check out the next chapter at Cloudburst.Ink](https://cloudburst.ink/speak-hush-6/)! I always post a chapter ahead over there! 🖤


	6. Ashes & Rubble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec, Jace, and Clary investigate the old Wayland Manor and make an appalling discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to read this chapter with extra features like pretty formatting and opening/closing songs? [Check it out at Cloudburst.Ink](https://cloudburst.ink/speak-hush-6/)!

The hills of rural Idris were blanketed in thick, fluffy layers of snow. Alec shivered, pulling his leather jacket tighter over his shoulders, hoping the wet flakes wouldn’t seep into his boots before they reached the stately country home ahead of them. The silhouette of Wayland Manor cut an imposing black hole in the powdered landscape, the sharp edges of its outline a stark event horizon between the snowy tranquility of Idris and whatever horrors lay inside.

A hidden part of him had always wondered if some small, fragile piece of Jace’s soul hadn’t been shattered and trapped in this place, clinging to childhood memories of his father’s cruelty, forever trapped in the clutches of the man who had altered his very nature in a manic grab for power. With cracked slate shingles and mossy, hewn stone bricks barely visible in the pitch-black of night, the imposing mansion looked every bit the kind of forgotten, haunted place that swallowed a person whole and never spat them back out.

Alec turned away from the house and back to Clary, who was just closing up the portal behind them, plunging them into darkness. The thin sliver of the moon above them did little to illuminate their way, but the pale snow held the surrounding hills captive in perpetual twilight, even in the darkest hours of the night. Alec activated his Vision rune, and the landscape flickered back into view. 

“I’m never going to get used to that,” Alec grumbled, eyes narrowing into the darkness previously occupied by the portal.

“Magnus tested it out himself,” Clary huffed, out of breath already from the exertion of the rune magic. She tugged her glove back over her hand as the mark faded. “He  _ said _ it’s safe.”

“He also said that you could accidentally throw yourself into limbo just as easily as with any other portal,” Alec pointed out. “The least we could do is establish some sort of protocol—see if other Shadowhunters can make use of it like you can, restrict usage to those who have been  _ properly _ trained.”

“I don’t see anyone inside,” Jace interrupted, pulling their attention back to the mission at hand. “It looks empty.”

Alec had not wanted Jace to come. If Clary’s vision had been able to injure Magnus, it stood to reason that any demon-blooded person might be vulnerable to whatever they were walking into. And, if they were honest, they really had no idea why they were here—only the bidding of vague, unintelligible voices that  _ might _ be angelic, and a very dubious vision of an old house.

What could possibly be so important in this house that an honest-to-Raziel  _ angel _ was sending messages to Clary about it?

Unlike Jace, Magnus had agreed to stay behind, much to Alec’s relief. He still seemed shaken from his brush with the angelic power in Clary’s mind, and wasn’t in any state to go charging into a potentially deadly situation without some rest and, even more importantly, research. Alec felt better for it—he could focus on the mission knowing his heart was safe back in New York. Magnus had clung to Alec until the last possible second, fingers brushing reluctantly against the surface of the portal when Alec stepped through it, as if he knew something the rest of them didn’t. Maybe it was just the same sense of uneasy foreboding that loomed ominously over them all.

The strange, heavy silence of the snowy countryside remained unbroken, even as their feet crunched into the snow and sank past their ankles. Their Soundless runes muted everything, even their breathing. They picked their way across the blank, undisturbed snow like dark ghosts, silent visions, the only proof of their passing the three trails of footprints left in their wake.

Alec reached the house last, an arrow nocked and ready in his bow. His fingers itched to draw it tighter, to send it flying into the darkness at whatever unseen enemy lurked behind the mansion’s crumbling walls. He kept a wary eye trained behind them, searching for any signs of an ambush. The landscape remained still, and the house frozen. Dark shadows of bare, skeletal trees rose up in the distance to guard the edges of a silent forest. Everything remained hushed, quiet, and unmoving.

Alec found himself afloat in the strange sense of being trapped in a dream—the kind where no one ever spoke, and he never quite got a look at anyone’s faces. The kind where the world remained muffled and mute—where every move was made as if through molasses, and he struggled to make sense of it until he woke up to a quiet, dark morning and a lingering sense of unease.

He hadn’t had one of those dreams in a very long time.

A slight breeze ruffled the fine hairs on the back of Alec’s neck, sneaking down the back of his clothes and sending a freezing chill echoing through his whole body. The three of them gathered around the front door, Alec watching the countryside behind them, Jace kneeling to trace the shimmering shape of an Unlocking rune on the door. It swung open with only the barest scrape of wood on wood where it brushed against the scuffed hardwood floor.

“Do you hear that?” Clary murmured, so softly that Alec almost missed her words under the stifling silence. Both Jace and Alec paused, listening. Alec met his  _ parabatai’s _ eyes and subtly shook his head, seeing his own wary confusion reflected back at him there.

“What?” Jace whispered. “What is it?” His voice was strangely close in the quiet—immediate, as if he was murmuring directly against Alec’s ear in a world otherwise devoid of sound.

Clary bit her lip. She looked down at her hands, flexing them to try to keep them steady, but they all saw the trembling of her fingers. She finally choked out the words, her breath catching in her throat. “The voice. It’s weeping.”

The only movement for several minutes was the pale white spirals of their breath clouding around their faces, drifting away and dissipating into the black air just inside the manor. Alec listened again, willing himself to hear what Clary did, hoping dearly that Magnus was right—that they were here by the will of some divine higher power and not playing right into Valentine’s hand.

Jace stepped forward first, slipping into the shadows of the foyer, and they had no choice but to follow. They split up and cleared the ground floor in silence.

The house was empty. Thick films of dust coated every flat surface, a dilapidated parody of the outside landscape. Alec kept his bow nocked and half-drawn. The string strained against his gloved fingertips, eager to be released, itching for a tangible target, but the only enemies Alec could recognize here were Jace’s memories and the faint vestiges of his own nightmares.

In one room, which Alec recognized as a study, a dark stain discolored the deteriorating rug and hardwood. It was long since dried and faded, a haunting reminder of the cruel mind games Valentine contrived for his own children. Staring down at it, Alec felt strangely removed. He realized that this was likely the spot where Jace once watched his own father bleed out. It was all a lie, sure—but for many years, it was the only truth his  _ parabatai _ had known.

Alec half expected to blink awake any second, warm and safe in the golden morning rays of sunlight that streamed into Magnus’s bedroom every morning, roused to the familiar scents of freshly ground coffee and sandalwood shampoo. But Alec did not wake up; he reconvened with Jace and Clary in the shadowed foyer. They met at the bottom of the staircase, which loomed above them, disappearing into darkness.

“It hasn’t changed a bit,” Jace murmured. He had a seraph blade drawn, squeezing the empty handle tightly in his fist. “My room is right up there. It’s—” he gritted his teeth, staring up into the darkness of the landing. “It’s like I only left yesterday.”

“Jace—” Alec was cut off by Clary’s strangled gasp.

“Not up there,” Clary hissed quietly. “Down. We have to go down. It’s coming from below us.” Alec’s throat felt like it might close up entirely. He swallowed back the burning in it, focusing on one slow, steady breath after another to calm his racing heart. What were they  _ doing _ here? Was it really safe to be trusting the disembodied voices in Clary’s head, and a single, uncontextualized vision?

“This way.” Jace led them back the way he had come, with Clary behind him and Alec at the rear. They passed through a large kitchen, with stone-tiled floors and marble countertops that still shone dully under the fragments of faint moonlight that filtered through the shuttered windows. A single rusted pot sat askew on the stove. Past that, a lonely door that Alec might have assumed to be a pantry opened instead to another flight of stairs. The stairs plummeted into a gloomy black chasm, nothing visible beyond the hardwood steps and rough, grey-stone walls.

Jace stepped forward, but Alec’s hand shot out before he could get very far, gripping his arm to tug him back. “What is it?” Jace demanded quietly.

“Not you,” Alec growled. “We don’t know what’s waiting for us, or how it might affect you. Take up the rear.” Jace’s lips parted to protest, his glare hard and determined. But before he could say another word, Alec slipped past him and descended into the shadows with Clary close at his heels in silent agreement.

Alec was halfway down the stairs when he heard it.

“Something’s down here,” he murmured. 

He understood, then, why Clary had been fighting back tears since the moment they set foot into the building. The sound was broken and keening, tugging loose an anguished thread from the deepest, most hidden recesses of his soul. Alec wanted to tear his own heart from his chest and crush it between his fingers—anything to stop the horrible feeling the sound evoked.

It was crying.

Alec’s feet brushed concrete, indicating the bottom of the stairs, though he couldn’t see the floor. No light reached this place.

Slowly, he released the numbing grip he had on his bow and pulled his witchlight from his pocket. It was the same one Magnus had given him weeks ago, enchanted to track the warlock Melusine wherever she hid away. That particular feature was useless now that she was imprisoned in the Gard, but Alec still used the  _ adamas _ stone for its more basic purpose. He liked having something from Magnus to take with him on missions. It made him feel safer.

The eerie, cool glow of the witchlight cast soft shadows over the empty cellar, meeting cold, damp stone in every direction. Alec heard a soft gasp behind him as the other two filed in.

Directly ahead of them, a frail, wretched shape hunched against the floor, shackled in a web of blackened chains. An intricate configuration of marks spread out from where the figure slumped—strange foreign runes that looked hauntingly familiar. They reminded Alec of the marks on Gretel’s body, dark and twisted. The black runes seemed to almost glow—or whatever the opposite of glowing was, eating up the radiance of the witchlight where it reached them. Alec’s blood hummed with dread. Every instinct screamed at him to leave this place and never look back, and the quiet, sharp inhalations behind him signaled that Jace and Clary shared his sentiments. This was a place of evil.

Alec remained rooted to the spot, his eyes locked on the one part of the silhouette before him that his logical mind could not quite fathom. His eyes understood what he saw, but his brain shut it down, grasping desperately for any other explanation, scrambling for all possible evidence that his own sense of sight deceived him.

Sprouting from the figure’s back was a magnificent pair of alabaster wings. They were chained to each wall, keeping them spread out in a gruesome display. Dried blood caked the snowy feathers in rusty trails, starting near the chain-pierced bone at the top of each wing and pooling to the floor in oxidized flakes.

This wasn’t a man.

“It’s an angel,” Clary whimpered.

The sorrowful sound came again, the angel’s mouth falling open the moment the witchlight flared to life. His eyes squeezed shut, burned by the soft glow of it after so long spent in darkness.

A wave of dizziness almost swept Alec off his feet. An angel that couldn’t even bear the gentlest of lights—it was  _ wrong _ . Alec lurched forward, but when he reached the edge of the black web of runes, something stopped him. It wasn’t so much an invisible barrier as a complete inability to even  _ try _ to move forward. He could not step past the edges of whatever magical configuration kept the angel imprisoned. He sank to his knees instead, his face only a foot or so away from the angel’s, the chill of shocked tears stinging his eyes.

“How did this happen?” Alec wasn’t even sure if he said the words aloud.

Angels had always been something immaterial—a mythical force from the heavens, the creators of the nephilim. They were the distant deities that shaped Shadowhunter law through ancient texts and age-old stories. They were never  _ real _ . Not like this.

But now they were. Now one was here, inches away from Alec’s face. There was an  _ angel _ in front of him, and it was dying. It was all bones and withered skin, tangled wisps of yellow-grey hair and sunken eyes, pallid under the witchlight’s faint illumination.

“I think,” Clary faltered, her quiet words cutting harshly into the grievous silence. “I think I can break this circle.” Alec shuffled aside when Clary fell to her knees beside him. He saw Jace’s white knuckles gripping her shoulder. Before them, the angel finally opened his eyes, pale gold and shimmering like sunlight, and stared straight at Clary. “Ithuriel,” she whispered.

Eyes locked with Ithuriel’s she tugged her  _ stele _ from her pocket and traced a series of foreign runes across the floor. They were unlike anything Alec had ever seen, but also unlike the tangled, corrupted marks already there. These ones radiated purity, safety, redemption. Light leaked from them like liquid, dripping into the cracks of the stone floor and seeping into the black runes that held the angel captive. When the first rune crumbled, a deep, rumbling sound echoed from beneath them, as if the very earth below Idris was shifting. Alec would not have been surprised if it did. His entire body was shaking too much to feel any noticeable tremble from the ground.

When the circle was broken, Alec reached up toward the chains that bound the angel’s wings. It was pure instinct, a primal desire to free what should not be confined. Jace’s abrupt grip on his arm was all that stopped him.

“Alec,” Jace said roughly. “Don’t.”

Alec looked back at his  _ parabatai _ helplessly. What were they supposed to do? How could they possibly fix this? How could they  _ save _ him? Alec had never felt less like a leader. He was completely out of his depth.

Jace answered before Alec could voice the thoughts aloud. “We can’t,” he murmured. Then he looked down at his own hand—at the hilt of the seraph blade still gripped tightly in his grasp.

“Jace,” Alec begged. “No.” They couldn’t do that. It wasn’t right. He looked to Clary for backup, but she only shook her head.

“Jace is right,” Clary whispered. “It’s what Ithuriel wants.” Alec stared between them, eyes wide, hands trembling. He could not accept that. It was insane. They weren’t going to  _ kill _ an  _ angel _ . He tore his gaze from his fellow Shadowhunters, and his eyes met Ithuriel’s.

Alec’s breath vacated his lungs. The power that lurked behind the angel’s golden irises reminded Alec of Magnus’s—the way they glowed with the luster of magic, fathomless and infinite. They were beautiful, and ancient, and so, so sad.

Ithuriel’s eyes narrowed, and Alec got the uneasy feeling that his thoughts were not private. Soundless, incomprehensible words took shape on Ithuriel’s lips, fading away before they escaped. He looked… heartbroken. Hopeless. He squeezed his eyes shut again, as if to accept a great, terrible plain, then his gaze returned to Jace and he nodded.

“ _ Ithuriel _ ,” Jace breathed. The named seraph blade blazed to life in his hand. The dazzling light of it cast long shadows on the wall before them, the ghostly echo of Ithuriel’s wings rising black and sinister above his direly frail body. Shadowed feathers rippled across the stone as Jace spun the blade around, passing it hilt-first into the angel’s shackled hands. Ithuriel clutched at the blade desperately, and then his bony fingers darted out and closed around Jace’s wrist. The two stared at one another for a long, lowering moment, and then Ithuriel released Jace’s hand and plunged the blade in one swift motion into his own hollowed chest.

The ghostly silhouettes of the feathers on the wall behind him grew and grew until they leaped from their place on the stone and drowned Alec’s world in darkness.

~*~

Black snow fluttered down around Alec, brushing softly against his arms and face.

_ Ash? _

_ No. Feathers. _

Alec reached out and plucked one from the air. It was inky black and shimmered in the light, whispers of emerald, topaz, and amethyst glinting across the surface like oil on water.

There was a weight in Alec’s chest, heavy and cold—the metallic kind of cold that stung like fire. His eyes fell downward, to where the hilt of a dagger protruded from his heart. It was a true blow—a killing one. His heart stuttered around it, striving to push blood through his veins, but succeeding only in pushing it out.

Tan, ring-clad fingers held the blade there, still white-knuckled from the effort of plunging it into Alec’s chest. Alec looked up and met dazzling golden eyes. Beautiful, magical eyes, shaded by centuries of grief and heartbreak. Alec’s own heart wanted to flutter, wanted to leap; it could not.

_ An angel? _

_ No. Magnus. _

Alec tried to whisper his name. No sound passed Alec’s lips, only blood. It trickled down his chin. He wanted to cough, but couldn’t draw the air. His lungs were spasming, burning. He couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry,” Magnus whispered. His voice cracked, raw and hoarse from crying. Tears streaked his face, dragging dark trails of shadow down his cheeks.

The feather slipped softly from between Alec’s fingers. It was snowing harder now, a maelstrom of shining onyx plumes. They clouded his vision until he saw nothing but darkness.

~*~

Black snow fluttered down around Alec, brushing softly against his arms and face. He blinked, pushing up to his elbows with some effort, all of his limbs heavy and sore. His breath came in short, labored gasps. One palm flew to his chest. When he found himself uninjured, he exhaled in a shaky whoosh, surprised to find tears streaming from his eyes. He gasped for breath, taking a moment to collect and reorient himself in the darkness.

One black flake drifted by Alec’s eye and settled on his cheekbone. It was warm. He raised his hand from his chest to brush across his face, and it came away black and silty.

_ Ash. _

Alec was on the ground, half buried in a soot-coated mound of snow. A deep trail cut through the glittering white powder between him and the house—or what remained of the house. What had once been the Wayland Manor was now only a flaming pile of ashes and rubble.

Somehow, Alec had been thrown free of the blast. A surge of panic flooded his veins. He leapt to his feet.

“Jace!” he called out. “Clary!”

The only response that met him was the crackling of burning wood and the intermittent fall of debris as the remaining beams and structure shifted and crumbled in on itself. Throwing himself into the wreckage, Alec called again into the darkness, eyes darting all around him, following every movement, chasing shifting shadows and flames. His throat burned, scraped raw and dry by the smoke and ash that filled his lungs. He threw aside beams and drywall, turned stones, and found only aching emptiness beneath them. He couldn’t stop. He had to keep digging.

_ Three go in, _ he repeated silently to himself, over and over.  _ Three go out. _

_ Three go in. Three go out. Three go in. Three go out. Treegointhreegooutthree— _

“Alec!” The voice came from behind him. Alec spun around to see Jace and Clary leaning against each other at the edge of the rubble, faces and clothing smeared with soot. He dropped the splintered railing in his hand and stumbled toward them.

“You’re alive,” he choked out. “Fuck, you’re  _ alive _ !” Alec scanned them over, fingers feeling for broken bones, eyes seeking out blood or wounds. They were both, miraculously, in one piece.

“Alec,” Jace soothed, brushing his touch away. “Alec, slow down. Calm down. You’re in a worse state than we are. We’re okay.”

“I’m not—I’m fine,” Alec stuttered. “I’m fine.” Relief ran cold through his veins. His whole body felt heavy.

“You’re bleeding.” Jace reached up and brushed his thumb over Alec’s temple. It came away dark and sticky, though Alec felt nothing. “Clary,” Jace asked, “can you portal us?”

Something was off, Alec thought. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think about the manor, or the angel. It felt like a dream.

Alec focused on the small details, willing himself to stay present, to to think, to remember every aspect for when his head cleared and his heart calmed. His  _ heart _ , which beat safely and steadily in his chest. Why had he been so sure it wouldn’t be?

Jace and Clary were disheveled. Their eyes shone brightly, as if they were fueled solely on adrenaline and excitement. Clary’s blouse was buttoned up wrong.

“Alec,” Clary asked breathlessly, tracing a glowing rune into the palm of her hand, “did you see it? The vision?”

“Vision?” Alec blinked. It crept back to him now. Black feathers. Slitted pupils, golden eyes. The searing, unbearable agony of those painfully familiar hands plunging a blade into his chest. “You saw that?” His voice was raspy and dry from yelling and breathing smoke.

“It was the Soul Sword!” Jace exclaimed. He sounded frantic, manic. “If we can destroy it like that, like what we saw, then Valentine can’t use it to summon Raziel. We  _ have _ to find him, Alec. We have to find the man in the hood.” Jace was babbling, and none of it was making sense. Alec hadn’t seen a man in a hood. Alec had seen Magnus. He swayed on his feet, but did not fall.

Alec staggered through the portal with Jace and Clary, but the warmth of the Institute did nothing to melt away the icy coldness spreading from his heart to his fingertips. He swallowed the lump that threatened to completely close his throat, heaving with every breath. The more Jace and Clary blurted about their shared vision—the hooded figure, the Mortal Sword crumbling to dust at his touch—the colder Alec became.

Alec had not seen the same vision as his companions.

“Alec?” Jace’s worried voice cut through his panic. “Alec? Hey. You’re okay. Let’s get you to the infirmary, buddy.” Alec followed numbly, his own vision replaying over and over in his adrenaline-addled brain. Magnus. Alec’s own blood, dripping between his trembling fingers. Black, inky feathers, filling his entire field of view until he saw nothing but endless darkness.

He didn’t know what to think. He  _ couldn’t _ think. His thoughts all melded together, racing at a million miles a minute, blanking out into a vast empty expanse of  _ nothing _ . He couldn’t breathe.

“Alec?” It was Clary’s voice now. Alec was sitting on the side of a bed, leaning over the edge like he was going to be sick. “How are you feeling?” Her blouse was fixed now. It was already daytime here in New York, and Alec realized with a start that even with the time difference, some hours must have passed. It was all a blur. He touched his forehead, searching for the injury from before, but his fingertips came away clean. His chest burned with the lingering memory of Jace’s  _ iratzes _ , and past that, from the awful recollection of the vision Ithuriel had given him.

“You didn’t see the Soul Sword, did you?” Jace asked softly. He was all cleaned up, changed to a soft grey t-shirt and black jeans. A rainbow of colored light filtered in through the stained glass windows of the infirmary, painting Jace and Clary’s faces into strange, unrecognizable shapes.

“No,” Alec admitted, tucking his pounding head down toward his knees. He knew Jace would feel the lie before he said it, but he forced it out anyway. “I didn’t see anything.”

Jace’s eyes narrowed. Alec met his gaze evenly, daring him to say anything, until finally his  _ parabatai _ broke their tense standoff and let his own eyes fall to the floor.

“Okay,” Jace answered. There was a hint of something unfamiliar in his tone—something akin to suspicion, or wariness. Alec hated the way it sounded when directed at him. “Well, let me know when you’re ready to talk. Izzy called Magnus. He’ll be here any minute.”

The very thought of Magnus had Alec’s stomach turning in panicked flips. He couldn’t face him yet. He couldn’t face any of them. Not after what he’d seen.

Alec watched Clary and Jace leave before he rose unsteadily to his feet, stretching out his sore muscles until he was sure that no lingering injuries remained. Then he strode out of the Institute and disappeared into the cold, blinding daylight of Manhattan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not ready to put the story down yet? [Check out the next chapter at Cloudburst.Ink](https://cloudburst.ink/speak-hush-7/)! I always post a chapter ahead over there! 🖤


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